Shining Through Blackness
by luinrina
Summary: Isla was born into the Black Family. She grew up with their traditions and was proud to be who she was – until she met someone who showed her that what she knew was not the only world.
1. Chapter One: Soon

I don't own any recognised characters; I wish I'd do, but they are J.K. Rowling's creations. I only consider several relatives of Isla that are not shown on the Black family tree (parents, uncles/aunts and cousins) that J.K. Rowling had published as well as all names that you don't recognise of my own creation.

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– chapter one –

**Soon**

It was a wonderful feeling, lying and floating in and out of a dream, the softness of the bed surrounding me. I was awake and yet my eyes stayed closed to hold onto that dream. Although I couldn't remember what the dream had been about, I still knew it had been glorious. It had evolved around me – the central figure of the masterpiece. But even the best feeling leaves at some point. With a deep sigh I opened my eyes.

My room was bathed in streams of sunlight, shining with all their early might through my windows. They were high and allowed a lot of the day's light to flow into my room, giving it an airy appearance with the light-coloured walls reflecting the sunlight and prism-breaking it into millions of wonderful colours within my own four boundaries. I smiled, feeling utmost content and secure, thankful towards my great-grandfather who had constructed and decorated this room as a surprise for his only daughter and all future descendants.

Outside, on the stairs, I could hear someone coming up; the steps were light and feathery on the thick blue carpet. It could only be father, as he always seemed to be floating instead of putting one foot before the other. His pace was quick, yet still admirably light. And listening to his steps has always been a joy for me.

Mother's steps were light, too; although she didn't seem to float. Her pace was… different. I couldn't describe it, but wherever I was, hearing her steps, I could always tell that it was her.

My sister was always stomping when walking or climbing stairs; no wonder, father would say, she's still only thirteen years old. She still had years to practise walking like a lady instead of stomping through the world like a small giant. But I thought it kind of fit her character. She became furious really easily, and when she was in one of her rages, she would not only smash several vases and other porcelains, but stomp up the stairs, also. Mother was always near tears whenever Elle became a raging monstrosity. It was not the usual behaviour for a member of our family.

Phin, my brother, had developed the typical walking graze of our family on his own. His steps were quite light, but the floating appearance was still missing. I'm not sure whether he wanted to learn it, but at least father always urged him to 'hold the head high, straighten the shoulders and walk with pride'. It wasn't suit for us to crouch like a beggar over the earth.

And me? My steps were still the ones of a ten-year-old child, trying to impress older siblings and parents. But I was determined to become as graceful as the rest of my family.

A light _knock-knock_ at my door tore me out of my reveries. I slowly sat up and slid my legs over the edge of my bed, angling my bare feet for my slippers. Hurrying over to the door and opening it, I looked up into the face of my father; I had been right, it _had_ been him coming up the stairs.

'Fine, you're awake. Hurry up, get dressed. We have to leave in an hour to get your brother and sister on the train.'

'Yes, father,' I replied. He turned around and continued his way to the next floor to my siblings' rooms.

I didn't watch him climbing the stairs but instead closed the door, ripped the night-dress off of me and opened my wardrobe to fish for a skirt and blouse. While I rummaged through my clothes, I heard the door open and close again, then a thin voice shrieking, 'Me lady isn't allowed to dress alone, no, me lady mustn't.' Then two small, yet strong hands gripped my waist and pulled me back. I was clutching a blouse and skirt in my hands, but they were taken from me with equal force as I was pulled away from my wardrobe.

'Themis, I'm old enough to dress on my own…' I began but a small hand pushing me towards the nearest chair interrupted my insistence.

'No, no, no, no, no, no,' the house-elf replied, emphasising every word with a push until I sat down. 'Me lady not dressing herself alone, Themis is doing it.' She shook her head violently when I opened my mouth to argue, her huge bat-like ears flying wildly around her head, slapping rather forcefully against it. But this didn't seem to worry or hurt Themis, because she didn't even wince. So I did instead.

Themis was just a house-elf, a tiny creature with a huge head, large eyes and gigantic, batwing ears, yet she was a really strong character and had a lot of willpower. Her rage even matched my sister's; nothing could prevent Themis from going about her everyday work, not even something as violent as a storm blasting through our house. So a ten-year-old girl looking for clothes to wear was easy to crush. No wonder Themis had been in our family for three generations, looking after and helping raise us children. She fit in well.

I was raised to behave and not contradict, so I sat there, closed my mouth again (after having received a look from Themis that told more than words could ever achieve) and did whatever Themis ordered me to do. In no time I was washed, combed and dressed, then ushered downstairs into the kitchen for breakfast. I knew that Themis, on the other hand, was headed to the next floor to tend to my sister.

I had my room on the third floor, next to a bathroom, a small library which worked as a study for us children, and another empty bedroom. This room should once have belonged to my sister. But because the second bedroom on the fourth floor, directly under the roof, was empty after the death of my second brother, she was allowed to move in there and leave the third floor.

Phineas Nigellus was my older brother, six years older, to be exact, but he was only the second-born son. Sirius Perseus had been the heir of father, but he died at only eight years of age. There had been a bad disease going around, and he had got infected with it. According to Themis, who sometimes babbled about my dead brother when she thought no one was listening, he had spent five months in St. Mungo's before he died one late night in April, 1853. It was out of grief that mother, who had been pregnant with me at that time, went into labour much too early. I was born mere hours after my brother's death.

My sister Elladora Charis was three years older than me, but we got along really well. In fact, when Elle was not having one of her usual fits, we played harmoniously together. She had taught me how to read and write; we would dream of fine princes, riding in on white horses to take us to their huge, splendid castles, making us their beautiful princesses. We drew those magnificent castles on parchment, and mother would hang them up in our study. The walls in there were literally plastered with these pictures.

On my way down to the kitchen I came across the second floor – hosting the huge bedroom of my parents, along with a second, much bigger bathroom, private study for father, and a large lounge – and the first floor, which was the normally inhabited area of the house. There was the 'official' library, together with two or three spare bedrooms (reserved for guests spending the night in our house) as well as a guest bath and the long, high-ceilinged drawing room where, on the far wall, our family tree was. It reached back several centuries, well into the Middle Ages. I was proud to be a part of it, and several years ago spent lots of time in front of the tree to not only look at it, marvelling at the fact that my family had been there for so long, but to learn it by heart. I still know it and will never forget my ancestry.

But the goal of my disturbingly loud steps on the soft carpet in the silent house had not been reached, so I took off down the stairs once more. I quickly reached the entrance hall, from where the sitting and dining room (for special occasions only) branched off. I went past several portraits of my ancestors, who slept peacefully in their frames, then stepped onto the last staircase leading down into the basement kitchen, where we normally ate whenever there were no guests visiting. On the wall hung several portraits of my siblings, parents and me, and I went slower to have a good look at them, even though I saw them every day.

Phin, Elle and I – and Sirius, too – sported the same appearance. We had smooth, black hair and grey eyes, the same colour as a misty London morning. Although still quite young, we were all tall and lanky. Elle and I had fair skin, which made us look even more breakable than our fragile build already suggested. Phin was a bit more on the dark side. His tanned skin was a golden-brown colour and looked healthier than ours. He even was built broader around the shoulders with strong arms and legs. His torso showed every lean muscle, and he was a real sight to see. I've noticed lots of girls or, when he got older, young women swoon after him whenever we were at a party. Phin didn't talk a lot about girlfriends and matters like these, but I'm sure he had one at school.

Which reminded me… there was only twenty minutes left for me to eat before we would accompany Elle and Phin to the school train. So I quickened my pace again and entered the long basement.

Off in a far corner was the kitchenette where another house-elf named Poros was busying himself with a good-smelling soup; he was already preparing lunch. I went around the table and sat next to Phin, who was already through his breakfast and reading the _Daily Prophet_ – or at least the pages mother had already perused and cast aside. I only glanced over the headline that suggested the new Minister (it was only a short amount of time before a new one would be elected), then happily munched on my eggs and toast. Mother threw me a disgusted look when I took a large gulp of water and started to cough after having choked on the bread. I looked down ashamed, warmth flooding through me and reddening my cheeks. I whispered a quick 'Sorry,' then continued eating, this time more like a lady.

Some time during my second portion – Poros had put more eggs onto my plate after I had finished with the first ones – Elle and father entered the kitchen. My sister was already wearing her school uniform, except for the cloak. I already dreamed of the day when I would be allowed to wear this uniform, too, and would look like my sister. She looked really beautiful in the black skirt and white blouse, the silver-green, straight tie lying around her neck. It was only then that I noticed Phin wearing his school uniform, too.

'Son, how far along are you with packing?' father asked, not bothering to sit down. Elle had taken the first page of the _Prophet_, her eyes scanning the headline and the article beneath.

'Everything is in the trunk, father. My cloak is already downstairs, and my wand I have here with me.' He took it out of his trousers pocket and held it high to show him. I was longing to touch it, but it was still another year until I would go to Hogwarts, too. Until that day I wasn't allowed to touch anything that had to do with school, meaning wands, spell books or school robes. I sighed resignedly.

'That's fine. Elladora's trunk has already been brought down. Poros,' father turned to the house-elf, handling plates, 'fetch Phineas' trunk and hurry. We're already quite late.'

The house-elf did immediately as he was ordered, and mere seconds later Phin's trunk was sitting next to Elle's. I always wondered how those tiny creatures could handle all that stuff at one time. But I figured it must be their kind of magic – ancient yet very different from the kind we were able to do. Theirs was powerful, but no matter how the elves tried, it would never match our wielding.

While off on one of my thinking streaks, I had finished my breakfast and mother put away the newspaper. Together we went upstairs and donned our cloaks before setting off towards the train station where the Hogwarts Express would carry Phin and Elle to school.

I remember the day when Phin left for school the first time like it was yesterday. We had entered the platform and there had been the scarlet train, emitting grey, cloud-like puffs, ready to leave. A huge crowd of people had been present, parents saying goodbye to their children, warning them to behave and to remember to write. A smaller crowd had stood aside, their words and gestures fewer than the ones of the rest of the assembled crowd. Those had been the well-respected families we were acquainted with, the pure-bloods worth knowing. The others were Mudbloods, only filth to be treated with as such. I always wondered why anybody decent would allow people like them to enter into our world. But according to father, who had the best connections within the Ministry, it was common nowadays and 'Muggle-borns' were to be treated like all pure-bloods.

Anyway, that had been the first time I had entered platform 9 ¾, and it had been a glorious but depressing moment; I wouldn't be allowed to go to school for six more years. Pity, I was prepared for this from the day I was born. And each time we went to accompany first only my brother and later Elle, too, to the train, another year went by and the time I would have to remain at home shortened. Now it would be the last time I would have to say goodbye to my siblings; next year would be the moment when I would wear those school robes, carry a wand with me and wave goodbye to my parents. Oh, how I longed for that day to come…

The journey to the station was uneventful, short and relatively quiet. Only mother made comments about those nasty Muggles from time to time. But we had no encounter with anyone of their sort, so nothing dramatic happened. I once caught sight of my brother's face; he seemed disappointed that nothing interesting occurred. I think he would have welcomed the idea of a fight against an unarmed Muggle, nowhere near able to defend himself against powerful curses. Somehow I had a feeling that my brother would make up for these lost chances when safely at school and away from father's wrath.

The entrance to Platform 9 ¾ was through a massive, solid-looking stone pillar. It had made me nervous going through there for the first time, but now I was used to it. Nevertheless, it left a strange, tingly feeling behind walking through stone. The Mudbloods that were to go through the entrance for the first time looked doubtful. Only after they had seen several witches and wizards do so without so much as flinching did they dare to try it on their own. I could only curl my lips at them, seeing how unable they were to comprehend the easiest bits of magic. And they caused quite a throng in front of the entrance. Luckily the Muggles didn't notice anything; they're so dull.

Seeing that it was only several minutes before the train would leave, the farewell was rather short. Father lectured my brother and sister on dignity while mother asked them to behave themselves. Elle looked sulky at the mention of that while Phin only sneered, 'Mother, behaviour is second nature to us Blacks. You don't need to believe otherwise.' Father gave him a short, proud smile, but then the train whistle sounded, calling all students aboard. I never cried whenever I saw my siblings leave (I was proud of that), so I wouldn't start with my last goodbye. Instead I gave them a small wink and nod before going back to mother. She had by now walked over to a friend of hers and started talking.

Mrs Orwell was at the station because her daughter had just been sent off for her third year at Hogwarts. Her son, however, would leave next year together with me. His name was Savaric and I had known him since we were little. Our families had befriended because father and Mr Orwell worked together at the Ministry; we saw each other regularly at dinners, either at the Orwell's house or in our own.

Savaric was looking uninterested at the Mudbloods on the platform; he was long over thinking up ways to curse them. But I wasn't quite sure if it was a lack of interest, because he wasn't able to do anything to them, yet. What I knew for sure was that he was looking as forward to having his own wand as much as I was. It was already common knowledge that we would go together into the same house, have the same classes and be around each other for the seven years that were to be spent at Hogwarts. Nothing would be able to divide us.

Phin had told me all about Hogwarts when he had come home for the first time. It had been the Christmas holidays of 1859, and I remember it had been a really cold winter. We had sat in our study, Phin doing his homework while Elle read to me. I can't really remember the content of this book, but somehow it had urged Phin into telling us about school. He had explained that there were four houses: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. He had said Slytherin was the only true house to be Sorted into; then he had lunged into narration about the Sorting. Obviously there was a hat that Sorted the first years, after having sung about the founders, houses or Merlin knew what else.

Ravenclaw house was for students with a sharp and witty mind; they were the best at school. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be a bad choice if this strange hat would put me there. After all, my cousin Gwenhyfar went into that house and did really well at school. At least that's what Elle had told me… They were in the same year but in different houses.

Students in Hufflepuff were normally loyalists and the well-being of the community was more important to them than their own. My uncle – the husband of father's sister – had been in Hufflepuff, and his character fit well into that house, from what I've heard.

Finally there's Gryffindor and I don't know anybody from my immediate family or friends that went there. According to Phin and my parents, Gryffindors were the enemies of Slytherins. I didn't know anything else about this house and was not interested to know more.

Coming back to reality, I suddenly noticed that my parents and I were already back at home. Somehow during all my thinking and daydreaming, we had walked back from the station. Then father's sharp voice penetrated my thoughts, 'And I thought we'd lost you somewhere in one of your fantasies' world, Isla.' I quickly looked up at him. He wasn't smiling. His forehead was wrinkled and his eyes scowling. Daydreaming and living in a world of thought was a really bad habit of mine. I gulped and looked down at my sock-clad feet; somehow I had already removed my shoes without noticing.

A firm grasp on my forearm brought my attention back to father. He dragged me upstairs into my bedroom. I heard mother sob once, then fear overtook me. I knew what was going to happen: father didn't tolerate it whenever someone didn't pay the slightest attention to our surroundings. And I definitely hadn't. He was going to punish me, hard. Usually it was grounding, loss of privileges like pudding as dessert or being allowed to read in the evenings in bed. But from time to time it would result in a spanking. And whenever I got caught daydreaming, I received one.

He had thrown me onto the bed, my face sinking into the soft mattress. But before I could push myself up again and turn around to face father, he was already behind me. With one hand between my shoulder blades he held me down while the other took one of my slippers and smacked it down onto my rear with force. I yelped with surprise at the sudden blow and pain, then started to cry and scream when the second stroke met my behind. Only one thought shot through my brain during these moments: when would the punishment end?

It went on for several more blows; I didn't care to count. Each blow fell with accurately measured force and aim; each sting throbbed on my buttocks. I surely wouldn't be able to sit for a week or so. And when it ended, it still felt like more smacks were coming down. While lifting me up into a standing position, father ordered me to stop crying; it took me several minutes to calm down enough to gulp down my tears. When my sobs had finally reduced to hiccups, he had grounded me for one week, only two allowed meals per day, no reading and no drawing. I was only permitted to leave my room for the bathroom twice a day in company of Themis.

'And I hope this will give you enough time to _think_, Isla Lyrae Black,' my father said before slamming the door shut.

I buried my face in the pillow, tears streaming down my cheeks.

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I want to thank JadeSullivan for being the wonderful Beta she is. Without your help, this story would lack something.

So, what's your opinion? Please take your time and leave a review.


	2. Chapter Two: Silver Fir

Here's the second chapter, already finished. Have fun reading.

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– chapter two –

**Silver Fir**

Mid-July had come, and a beautiful day was starting to unfold. For several weeks now the sun had been ruling the sky and the wind was helping her, blowing away all impending clouds that tried to threaten the sun's dominance of the azure-painted summer firmament. Since the beginning of June, the warmth had slowly but steadily increased, and by now the city was blanketed with heat. The air flickered and it had the exotic look and feel one experiences in the desert (not that I have ever had the chance to experience it, but father had once been to the north of Africa and had told us children all about it). Birds were only heard in the most early hours, right before the sun began rising; I haven't seen any of them for weeks.

Normally I didn't sleep in, as I was an early riser. Elle always complained about me 'being so utterly joyful in the morning'. She loved getting up late when she was on holidays. But today I enjoyed staying in bed, relaxing my limbs and drifting in and out of sleep. I had closed the window curtains to keep the sun from heating up my room, but it was hot nonetheless, and my blanket lay crumpled on the floor at the foot of my bed.

The house was still quiet. No one else was up yet, except father. I had heard him leaving early in the morning, but after that moment no noise had penetrated the peacefulness of the house. Even Themis and Poros had silently occupied themselves in a far corner to keep from disturbing anyone.

I was just about to drift off into another dreamy slumber when a soft thud came from the window, followed by a hesitant little knock against the glass and an even quieter 'hoo hoo'. Thinking that it was just another dream unfolding itself within the depths of my unconsciousness, I yawned and turned over, intending to fully fall asleep again. Just then, shortly before closing my eyes, I saw something grey shimmer through the small gap where the two curtain halves didn't quite overlap. Now curiosity had me fully awake in the blink of an eye; hastily I got up and crawled out of bed. Slowly I inched towards the window and squinted against the brightness. So far I could only discern a fleecy shadow. At that moment an impatient _tap tap_ echoed through my room, it could only be…

'An owl?' I hurriedly opened the curtains and there it sat, a grey miniature owl, a huge white letter bound to its left leg. The big amber eyes were reproachfully looking up at me, and it was the bad nagging feeling in the general region of my stomach that urged my hands to open the window to let this poor bird escape the heat and enter into my really cool chamber. The little creature flew straight to the top of my wardrobe but seemed to have decided really fast that the upper half of the room was hotter than the other one; it came down within seconds again. This time it landed neatly on my bed, rustling its wings and folding them against its body. The owl hooted one more time, then blinked several times with her huge amber eyes, before sticking out her leg to show me the letter.

Feeling a mixture of surprise and puzzlement, I inched towards the bed – slowly as not to frighten the bird – and with shaking fingers loosened the knot binding the letter to the bird's leg. I then sat down, leaning my back against the mattress, and unrolled the letter. On the front was written, clearly visible with emerald-green ink, _Miss Isla L. Black, third-floor-bedroom, Twelve Grimmauld Place, London_ whereas the backside was dominated by a huge crest, divided into five parts – four in each corner, the fifth one in the middle. The upper left corner was filled with a golden lion, the background painted with golden-red stripes. Underneath was a black badger against a yellow squared pattern. The right side showed a green snake in front of a silver-green decorated tapestry, and beneath it showed a raven with a blue background. All four animals encircled a square with a capital H in its middle. Under the crest flew a ribbon sporting the words _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_ – Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon.

I was bursting with joy. Finally, I would be going to Hogwarts. With destructive haste I ripped open the envelope to find a letter and a list inside. The letter I simply looked over – I knew the words by heart. The letter always had the same content, and I had been allowed to read the ones that Phin and Elle had received when they had been about to start their first year at Hogwarts. The more interesting part of the letter was the list on the second piece of parchment. It contained the necessary school books, potions equipment, as well as what robes we should possess, and so on. And it clearly said that I would need a wand. One of my own. Finally.

--

When the others finally got up, the clock of the nearest church tower had already droned twelve o'clock. From the basement kitchen, waves of delicious smelling food were spiralling throughout the house; Poros had already begun preparing lunch. By now I was nearly starved, and my stomach was growling loudly while I tried to gracefully walk down the stairs. I had been practising over the last year and father had already smiled proudly at my improvements. It had made me very proud as well. But right now the constant howling of my stomach somehow ruined the image of me walking like a lady. Several of my ancestors must have agreed, because I could clearly hear their disapproving whispers. 'Impossible, the youth of today,' one of the old men cried suddenly when a really disastrous growling echoed around me. My cheeks burned red, and I hurriedly apologised to my great-grandfather's uncle.

'A young lady should never allow herself to be degraded in such a way!' another old man cried.

I attempted to justify myself, saying, 'I'm _sorry_, uncle, but hunger is a natural given for humans. What shall I do instead of walking down to the kitchen? And what else do you want to hear?' However, my words went unheard, and the old men continued scowling at me. I decided that a strategic retreat was in order. Rather hurriedly I trampled down the stairs, only to run head-on into my brother. It seemed I wouldn't be getting off easily today, no matter what happened.

But Phin didn't say anything. He just looked at me the same way father used to whenever I did something wrong; it made me nervous, and I gulped down a bad feeling which intensified with every second my brother glanced at me. It went on for several more moments causing me to grow reckless inside; I was sure to say something nasty any moment now. But, luckily, Phin took that moment to turn around, grab my arm and drag me over into the drawing room. His grip was powerful and hurt me – it felt as if my arm was going to be ripped off – but he didn't stop until we stood directly in front of our family tree.

'Our ancestors, Isla, should be proud of us. We are to represent the Black's traditions, values, way of life.' He looked down at me with this calculating yet disturbing gaze that made me feel more ashamed than I already was. 'Never again anger our ancestors. Understood?' Phin spoke silently, but his voice carried a dangerous streak that forbid disaster. To avoid that, I did what I was supposed to do: I relented. I would do everything for my family's honour. So I fought down the growling hunger within my stomach and, surprisingly for myself, I succeeded. Phin gave me a smile and I knew I had done right.

'So what were you going to tell us, sister?'

I should have known. No secret could be held in this household forever. The walls had ears, literally.

'I received my invitation to Hogwarts today.' And then I took out the letter, proudly showing both sheets of parchment to my older brother. The happy feeling returned and replaced the icy knot with warmth and joy. 'I'm going to be a good witch.'

'No, a Black's never "good".' My heart sank, and I was worried he would lash out at me. But all he did was continue to talk. 'We're to do _well_, Isla. Got that?' And I nodded enthusiastically.

--

When I told mother about the letter during our late breakfast and showed her the list, she did something I'd never experienced before: she showed emotion. She smiled widely at me, then went onto her knees and hugged me hard and long; it felt as if several ribs were breaking within me. When she finally moved away from me, I got a good look at her face and saw that she was weeping. Slowly two tears rolled down her pale cheeks, leaving dark paths behind. It made her more human, something I wasn't ashamed to admit made me feel good in the inside.

Naturally, she decided that we would visit Diagon Ally right the next day so that I would have a chance to read up on several spells, memorise the first potion instructions, and get used to holding a wand before the school term began in September. I didn't want to point out that there was enough time until that day would come, six more weeks to be exact, because I had been dying to hold my own wand since I had been able to speak the word (which, if I remember correctly, was when I was only three years old).

When the next morning came, I was really excited. I awoke with the best feeling I have ever felt and could have sung all day along. In fact, I tried to do so, but the music faded quickly from my lips when I caught sight of father's eyes, reprimanding me to stop being so squirrelly. So instead of expressing my joy, I quickly started behaving like a dutiful daughter again and kept silent. I received no more glares.

The trip to Diagon Ally wouldn't take long, because father had decided to travel by Floo network. We assembled around the fireplace down in the kitchen soon after breakfast. Then my brother took a handful of the green powder and threw it into the flames. They turned emerald at once, and he stepped inside, calling loudly, 'Diagon Alley!' With a loud _whush_ he disappeared and Elle moved to mirror his actions. When she had gone, too, mother went next. She looked shortly at me and reminded me to speak loud and clearly. She was interrupted by father who snarled, 'Let it go, Lyrae. Isla knows how to travel by Floo network.' Mother shot him a strange yet very short glance, then turned around rather hastily and was gone within the blink of an eye. Father then ordered me to grab some powder and I followed my siblings and mother in mere seconds.

The goal of our short journey was a pub called The Leaky Cauldron. It was situated at the corner of two streets and looked quite shabby and dark in the inside. I had never seen the outside of the pub because we always travelled by Floo powder whenever we were going to Diagon Alley. I suppose father didn't think that walking in the open Muggle world would be any good for us. But I had heard from other witches and wizards that Muggles weren't able to see the pub. For them, it seemed to look like a ruin in danger of collapsing.

I received a small slap against the back of my head before turning around and seeing father sending me another one of his famous 'what did I tell you?' glares. In order not to annoy him any further than I'd already done, I hastened to follow Elle who had started to move towards the back exit of the pub; Phin and mother were already leaving through said door. When we had assembled in the little backyard, father ordered us to stand aside and drew out his wand. With a few stabs against several bricks on the wall, the entrance to Diagon Alley started to open. The bricks had sprung to life and moved right or left to create a kind of portal big enough to allow humans to walk through without having to crouch. It resembled a normal wooden door, except it wasn't wooden and doors usually didn't have to open with stabs of a wand against several bricks.

Together we set out to a huge building, its white marble walls glistening in the light of the sun. From afar it didn't look like it had any decent corners or edges but a lot of round lines. How a house of that build was able to stand – let alone for several hundred years – I couldn't grasp. It was Gringotts, the wizarding bank and the gold and treasures in there were guarded by Goblins. These were not the most beautiful creatures, yet they were very dangerous to meddle with. We all waited outside while father went in to quickly gather some gold from our vault.

While we waited for father's return, I took the chance to look around curiously. Sure, I had been to Diagon Alley often, but it was always interesting and new things were always waiting to get inspected and discovered. But I didn't get the chance to turn around completely to take a good look around before father came back, the gold bulging in a purse in his cloak's pocket.

Our next goal would be a tailor's. I needed a set of school robes, several gloves, robes for work and other things. Elle would get a new set, too, since she had grown several inches and the old clothes were too short by now. Phin only asked for a new cloak and warmer gloves, which was granted naturally. The most usual shop to buy robes for all occasions would be Twilfitt and Tatting's, but father had never let us shop there. He said it was for the common people. _Our_ kind would buy the robes elsewhere. So we went by Twilfitt and Tatting's and reached Vestimenta shortly after. The shop was relatively big, at least in comparison to the shops surrounding it. Vestimenta offered elegant robes and school uniforms, all fabricated right there (hand-made of course) and the material was imported from Spain, where the fashion of Europe was spreading. And our family always bought from the best.

While Phin was served (and done quite quickly), Elle and I were led into another room where a tailor measured our heights. He then offered mother, who had come with us girls, four or five different materials from which she chose. After that he asked Elle to try it on and, while a woman pinned the length, his attention was drawn to me. I had to get dressed, too, then the woman would come and pin the length, just as she had done with my sister. The whole procedure didn't take very long so we were free to go back to father and Phin who were already outside waiting for us. Mother came last, having cleared how many sets of robes were required and whose name should go on which set. The tailor promised to have them ready within two hours.

The next bit of shopping was handled quickly. At first we stepped into the apothecary, where we bought all ingredients needed for proper potion brewing, then continued on to the book shop. For me it looked more like father's library, but not as big as his. The owner forgot about the other customers as soon as he saw us, and father credited that with the extra pay he always received from us.

Laden with several bags of heavy books, we continued on and visited the Quidditch shop (Phin needed new oil to treat his broomstick), stopped by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to buy us children ice cream (which was an unusual event since we had never got ice cream before), went to collect Elle's and my robes from Vestimenta and then swept by the menagerie where father quickly bought cookies for my sister's owl. I wasn't allowed in but pressed my nose against the window – as lady-like as I could – and watched the animals inside. I would have liked a cat for my own, but mother and father didn't like them.

Our last stop of the day was Ollivander's, the best wandmaker in all of Britain. All our family had bought their wands from them, and they were really the best. So with anew excitement spreading through my entire being, we stepped into the shop, the door closing with a tinkle.

The owner, a quite young man, came sprinting down from one of the narrow isles dominating the shop's interior. He greeted us enthusiastically and took out a measuring tape which started to unroll itself as soon as father had put forward our request. While it danced around me, measuring all possible lengths, Mr Ollivander had wandered off, taking out several long, thin boxes. He stacked them on the counter, and then took out a wand. He handed it to me, asking me 'to give it a flick.' Nothing happened when I did so. Mr Ollivander's forehead wrinkled in thought as he put two or three boxes aside, unopened, and took out another wand.

'Try this one, young lady.'

I closed my fingers around it and waved it in the direction of the closest shelf, without anything happening. 'Hm… not this one either…' Mr Ollivander muttered while shuffling into another isle, taking out more boxes.

Phin, who stood slightly behind me, sneered, 'Maybe she's not a witch at all.' A slap on skin let me know that father must have punished him with the back of his hand against my brother's mouth. He went silent immediately.

Mr Ollivander returned with another stack of boxes balancing in front of him. He set them down and opened the topmost, handing it to me. This time as I held it, a strange tingling feeling went through my fingertips and I told the man so. 'Ah, we're getting closer.' He took another wand out and this time something fantastic happened: a really powerful blast shot through my entire body, kind like a bolt of lightning, and many colourful sparks emitted from the tip of the wand.

'This wand has unicorn hair as a core, which isn't all that interesting actually, but this hair is special. It comes from a foal, not three months old. It's still golden. The outer shed is of silver fir, a real rare plant in Europe. It only grows in the highest mountain regions. If I remember correctly, I gathered the wood during a trip to Salzburg. The people living in the Alps say that there is a sort of legend revolving around the silver fir. They say it was once a girl, clad only in white, her hair silver. She wandered around the woods all on her own, looking for something. But no one knows what she was searching or whether she found it; only a few suspect that she was looking for the truth. But when the winter came, it got really cold. So cold that all froze instantaneously, the girl amongst the plants. It was a sad thing and the spirits felt pity for her. So they transformed her into the first silver fir and gave it the ability to spread in order to allow the girl, whose soul still lived within the tree, to continue her search.'

'But as you said it's only a legend,' father snarled as soon as Mr Ollivander had finished telling. 'There's no proof that this is true and as long as it isn't, I won't allow such nonsense being told to my children.' He scowled dangerously at Mr Ollivander who quickly apologised to us and bowed deeply in regret. Father then ordered him to take the payment and hurried to get us out of the dusty shop.

All the way back home I was silent. Somehow this legend didn't let go of me and something told me there was more to it. When I arrived in my room, alone, I took out my wand to get a closer look. The wood had a silvery appearance and drew me to it. I couldn't tell what it was that fascinated me about the whole story, but I had the feeling that I would be involved in one way or the other. Maybe I would have to go looking for the truth, too. But why and when, I didn't know. And what would happen if I did was beyond my grasp.

* * *

Again, lots of thanks to my brilliant beta JadeSullivan. What would my text be without your help?

Chapter three is written, too, and should be online at the beginning of next week. I hope you'll stick with me and thanks to all for leaving reviews.


	3. Chapter Three: Slytherin

– chapter three –

**Slytherin**

London lay in peaceful silence, the city's inhabitants still deep asleep. The sun had still not risen, yet the first birds were already singing. The sky was coloured in a dark blue, mixed with various shades of grey lying on the firmament like misty clouds slowly wafting through London's streets, but on the far eastern horizon, the first signs of the near sunrise shone in a bright violet-red. Not far away a dog suddenly started to balk, surely because of a stray cat. But it fell silent again shortly after.

Through my window eerie light danced around; the moon had once again fulfilled its circle. The sky was clear and cloudless for miles. From my surveyor's position at the windowsill, I could easily make out the stars, all shining brightly down at me, some twinkling now and then. The most brilliant star shining was Sirius, hope's kindle. It gave me the hope and strength I would need from now on if I wanted to succeed.

September 1st had finally come, and I was more than ready to start my career at school. But deep inside I felt unsure about whether I had a chance to excel when I had my brother around. Phin always got the highest marks, and last year he had been made Prefect. Father and mother were quite sure he would become Head Boy next term. And then there was my sister. Elle had received good marks, too, so far, although not all professors liked her occasional strange behaviour.

The sound of the grandfather clock a floor below echoed throughout the house; it chimed four o'clock. Quickly counting I had still seven more hours until the train would leave, and it wouldn't be long before I would be sitting in Hogwarts, with my siblings, about to spend the very first night of my life away from home.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside my room. The owner – my brother – silently walked to the bath across the corridor; a door opened and closed again, then silence. I returned my gaze back to the moon outside and the ring of misty, white-grey light that shone around Earth's steady companion. I was so drawn to this natural spectacle that I missed the night-time wanderer leave the bath and silently enter my bedroom. It was only when I felt someone close behind me and a hand on my shoulder that I pulled my gaze away from the dark sky. My torso turned slightly around and my eyes searched for the other person's face; it was Phin. Again I had correctly 'guessed' the person belonging to its steps.

'Can't sleep?' he silently asked. I shook my head and turned back towards the window. 'You know, Isla, there's no need to be this excited. Hogwarts is pretty much like every other school.'

I wondered how he would know, never having been to another school except Hogwarts, and I directly asked him that. His answer was a silent but hearty laugh. 'Sure, how would I know? But honestly, I think you just overrate life at Hogwarts. It's quite dull there if you ask me.'

To that I didn't answer. I knew better; Phin had once been this excited, too, when his first September first had arrived.

'You should go back to bed, Isla. It's going to be a long day.'

--

The next thing I remember is the sun shining brightly, its rays tickling my nose. I didn't remember when I had fallen asleep again or how I had got back into bed. Surely Phin had carried me over from the windowsill. Silently I wrote a note within my head to remember to thank him later for doing so. But although I was awake, I felt terribly tired now. How did I wake up then in the first place?

A head bobbing into my view at my bed's end gave me the answer: Themis. I hadn't heard her come in, but no wonder: I must have slept like a dead person. I still felt that I could do so. But the resolute little creature had yanked my bedcovers away and was now ordering me to get out of bed.

'You leaving soon, me lady mustn't sleep in.'

Too tired to argue with her about that, I got up, sat at the nearest chair and let her weave my hair into something decent. Afterwards she quickly washed and dressed me, then ushered me into the kitchen for breakfast. By now I was able to hold my eyes open for more than mere seconds, but I had no appetite at all. Poros served my favourite breakfast – scrambled eggs – but even that I didn't touch. Mother threw me a strange look but said nothing.

Father had taken this morning off to bring us to the train. He ordered the elves around like an army officer until all the luggage was stored next to the door in the entrance hall. Themis came into the kitchen, my school cloak draped over her shoulders. I still hadn't eaten anything but stood anyway, the elf donning me into the rest of my robes.

The last-minute packing and leaving went by in a blur; I hardly grasped anything going on around me as I still wasn't fully awake. But the excitement grew and I got as tense as a tightened bow until I was rooted to the spot. My brother had to literally kick my behind to get me moving out of the entrance hall (which earned him a disapproving look from mother and a box on the ears from father, but don't ask me how I noticed this). As soon as the morning air hit my face – quite cool in comparison to the heat that lasted the last several weeks – I was instantly awake. With a sudden shock I felt the heavy weight of luggage against my left leg; surely Themis had seen to it that I took my rucksack with me.

The walk to the station took as long as all the previous years, no additional metre to be done. The entrance to platform 9 ¾ was, as always, through a pillar of stone where a rather long queue had developed. But the feeling running through me when I stood in front of the Hogwarts Express was new; this time I would be on board.

Sniffing the air with excitement, I clearly smelled the train's cloud; it promised a different nine coming months. Around me hundreds of people were chatting amiably with either family or friends, looking as excited as I felt. I took a close look around, like someone seeing a place for the very first time, and noticed father standing a few feet away, already talking with Mr Orwell. His wife and children stood several metres in the background, looking relieved to see mother, Elle and me approaching. Phin had already disappeared.

'So, that's it then,' Savaric grinned at me. 'We're going.' I smiled shyly back at him.

Elle gave Sybil, Savaric's older sister, a small nod, then wandered off, too, supposedly to find her friends; Sybil copied her shortly afterwards – neither saying anything at all.

Silence grew around us, and after a few minutes the situation got tense. I somehow had the feeling that I should say something, at least to Savaric, but when I opened my mouth to speak up, Mr Orwell called for his wife and son. Mother and I were left behind.

'Isla,' mother began, using her chance to speak alone with me, coming closer, 'I want you to know that I love you. And know that you're a good girl. Try to not do as your siblings do, and be just yourself. Promise.'

Not knowing what my mother's intentions were, I simply stood dumbfounded. Never before had she acted or spoken like that, although – I have to admit – she had always treated me differently than Phin or Elle. Until now I had been blaming it on the circumstance that I was the youngest child, but after mother's words I wasn't so sure any more that it was the whole reason. She herself had been acting strange as of lately.

'So, ready to leave?' My thoughts were interrupted. I turned around and saw father smiling at me, which is actually unusual, but then he topped that with swiftly bending down and dropping a short kiss onto my forehead. Now more dumbstruck than before, I followed him over to the train and climbed on board; he lifted my trunk after me. 'Make sure to either keep to your siblings or Savaric, understood?' I nodded. Just then a loud whistle blew and all hurried forwards, quickly climbing onto the train. Windows opened, children hung out their heads to bid farewell to their parents, arms waving. I took the chance and quickly bent over, hugging father for the first time in my life. Tears wanted to roll out of my eyes, but with all my might I made sure to not let them flow; it would ruin my reputation.

Before father was able to understand what had just happened, I had already let go of him again. Not daring to meet his eyes, I stood and waited for his punishing words – showing emotion or affection of any kind was uncommon and preferred not to be seen. But none came.

With a shaking rumble the train started moving and slowly left the station. Father still stood where he was, rooted to the spot, yet mother had joined him. Next to them stood Mr and Mrs Orwell, watching their son and daughter leave. No one lifted an arm to wave.

'Come on, let's find a place to sit.'

Turning around I saw Savaric bending down to take up his luggage. I hadn't even seen him coming on board. He threw a questioning glance at me, eyebrows raised, vanishing into his fringe, then he started to walk down the corridor to his right. I hurriedly grabbed my luggage, too, and followed him.

It was arduous work to pull the heavy trunk and rucksack behind. But Savaric didn't seem to notice; he kept walking and simultaneously looked into the compartments. From what I saw, all were already occupied.

After several more long minutes we had walked down half of the train's length, having checked at least fifty compartments. Still, no empty one was in sight.

With a thoughtful look Savaric suddenly stopped, and I bumped into his back, but he hadn't noticed. I used his inattentiveness to straighten myself. When he turned around to look at me, I appeared my usual composed self and got a clear view into the compartment in front of which he had stopped. It contained three people, two boys and a girl. I looked back to Savaric and declared, 'That's already taken.'

'I know. But they don't wear house colours. They're first years, like us.'

I threw another glance inside to see if Savaric was telling the truth, but he had already opened the door and went into the compartment. 'I suppose there's room for two more?' No hello, no greeting, no introduction – pure bluntness. Sighing in defeat I followed him.

At first there was uncomfortable silence reigning. No one spoke and each threw the others curious glances. About ten minutes later – after the train had left the last outer suburbs of London behind – the girl started to talk. She looked quite inconspicuous to me (with maybe a little bit too much weight on her hips, but hey, not all could look as perfect as I did), but at least I learned her name: it was Helen Sullivan. She said that she was really excited about starting Hogwarts.

Glancing over at Savaric, who sat opposite me, I saw in his eyes the confirmation to my assumption – she was either a Muggle-born or a half-blood, not a pure-blood like us. So she wasn't worth our attention.

When I turned back to look out of the window, I noticed the boy sitting next to Savaric staring intently at me. He had dark-green eyes and raven hair. I wasn't sure but his stare made me kind of nervous. 'You're a Black,' he suddenly said, unexpected, 'I've seen you before.' Now I certainly _was_ nervous and thought about leaving the compartment to go and find my siblings for security.

'Let her be, Searle. She has nothing to do with you and the other way round.'

I questioningly looked at Savaric to find out what he was talking about, but he only curtly shook his head: _Not now_. Rolling my eyes and silently sighing, I hoped he wouldn't forget to later tell me what was going on and from where he knew this Searle – or whatever his name was; although, I suppose, it was only his family's name.

'If you say so, Orwell.'

'I do, Searle.'

The silence came back and it got tense; you could literally grasp it with your fingers. Savaric and this Searle boy stared at each other, a dangerous blinking in each one's eyes. Helen shared a questioning look with the still anonymous boy, then with me. 'How about a game of Exploding Snap?' she then, light-heartedly proposed.

Her offer didn't get the hoped results, but at least Helen won the boys' undivided attention. 'No,' unknown-name Searle sneered and leaned back against the headrest, 'that's only for Mudbloods.' The last word he spat into her direction.

Helen was hurt – I could see it in her eyes – but didn't show it openly. The wrinkling of her forehead showed that she was tempted to respond, but in the end she only gulped it down, turning to look at the fifth compartment's occupant. 'Are you up to a match, then?'

That made the anonymous boy nervous. He quickly cast a glance at my direction, then over to Savaric and mysterious-name Searle, unsure of how to answer. But when Helen urged him to say _something_, he offered the truth. 'Sure, when you can explain it to me, I've never played it before.' A Muggle-born.

Savaric seemed to have come to the same conclusion because his face now showed deepest loathing. While I still wondered what to do or say, he stood, grabbed his luggage and slid open the compartment door. 'Let's go, Isla. We're not going to sit with scum, filth that could infest us any minute with a deadly disease.'

Not comprehending why he had said that, I stuttered, 'But they look absolutely healthy to me.' Several things then happened at the same time: The anonymous boy looked up at me with something strange shining in his eyes; Helen stood, her face quickly reddening until it resembled the colour of a tomato, whereas Savaric paled considerably. Still-unknown-name Searle looked flustered with anger. He had stood, too, ready to leave with Savaric, but upon my words had sprung forward and was now smacking the back of his hand across my mouth. The sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded through the compartment.

The silence that fell after the chaos before held a bad foreboding; I clearly felt something dramatic would happen if I didn't apologise immediately. And in no way did I want something like that. That is why I stood and uttered a silent 'I apologise.' Savaric then grabbed my upper arm, tight, and I let myself be dragged out. His grasp hurt like hell, but I would not say anything, my courage completely gone.

As soon as we were out on the corridor and the compartment door had closed behind us, Savaric marched off with quick steps. I didn't know where he was going, but a vague idea formed in my mind, a terrible outcome waiting at its end.

--

Robert looked crestfallen at the closed door. Somehow, he was sure he had missed something important. These three had acted as if he and Helen were aliens. Intending to clear the disorder within his head, Robert turned to his girly companion, who let herself fall onto her seat, now normally coloured again. Only her cheeks still bear a light touch of rosé. 'What just happened?' he asked her silently.

Helen sighed several times before she began answering. 'It's the blood status what concerns _them_.' Upon seeing his confused face, she told about pure-bloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns. She explained that the former believed the last – and sometimes the middle-mentioned, too – not worthy of magic. 'They think they're better than we are just because they know a bit more about magic and all that matters within the wizarding world. Kind of like aristocrats.'

That made Robert think. He had believed that at least in the wizarding world things were different, more tolerable, no classes within the population. But after what he had witnessed, he got the impression that it was actually worse than in the world he had come from – the Muggle-world.

'She was different,' he muttered, but Helen had heard him.

'That girl? You heard Searle, she's a Black. And the other an Orwell. Both are rich and influential families… have a lot of power.'

'Maybe, but…'

Helen leaned forward to scrutinise him carefully. 'You're not falling in love with her, are you?'

'No!'

'Good, 'cause you wouldn't stand a chance. I guess she's already betrothed to the Orwell-boy. And even if not, she's going to be.' When she noticed his shocked expression, she threw Robert a long glance, meaning _I know such things, believe me_. 'Keep away from her and you'll be fine.'

--

The rest of the journey I spent in my brother's and some of his classmates' compartment. Savaric had brought me straight there as I had supposed he would. And after he had told Phin what had happened, I got a resounding box to the ears 'for being disrespectful'. What's even worse was his promise to write home about my behaviour. While looking out of the window, I sighed; as soon as father knew, he would send a Howler, the most horrific thing that could happen to a Hogwarts' student. My siblings and cousins had told me about some students who had received Howlers, much to their horror and the amusement of the others.

'A galleon for your thoughts.'

I looked up at my brother. He sat opposite and studied me closely, his grey eyes cold. I didn't find anything in them that seemed remotely friendly towards me.

'I… just… remembered something,' I mumbled, completely making up an excuse. Phin needn't know that I was afraid of the Howler.

My brother opened his mouth to say something, but the girl sitting next to him simply laid her hand onto his arm. No answer ever came.

Ursula Flint was in Phin's year, a Slytherin just like him. Her hair reached to the middle of her back and it currently reflected the sunlight, shiny and golden. Her blue eyes were piercing, and no one could hold out long when she stared back. So when she noticed me looking at her, I quickly threw her a small smile, then looked back out of the window.

The countryside had already changed. Suburbs and smaller towns had been long left behind, the journey now went through yellow-green hills, the occasional river glistening silver-white, finding its way through hills and stone. But no one other than me found it interesting enough to look out of the window.

The boys were playing wizard's chess and, being five persons, had developed a kind of tournament, playing against each other in rounds. So far it seemed, at least to me, that Alastar Silverfire was going to win this match. His figures stood extremely well, his current opponent hadn't the slightest chance. But after that game he would have to play against Phin before having won this tournament. And my brother was a champion – no one, not even father (although he had once been Britain's best chess player), could win when playing against him (I would know, I've tried countless times, always without any luck).

'Checkmate,' Alastar said boringly, after his opponent – of whom I didn't know the name, yet – had set his move.

But at least he was a fair loser. 'Well, seems I've lost, _again_.'

The others laughed silently, sniggered was more like it.

'Congrats, Silverfire. But now you need to win against Black.' He rearranged the figures back into their starting positions. 'I hope you know that you have to, otherwise my loss would have been an unnecessary sacrifice.' He leaned over the chessboard to scrutinise Alastar.

'Stuff it, Smith,' my brother said and got up. Alastar used the boy's momentary inattentiveness to shove him off.

Half an hour later there was literally a battle raging across the chessboard. Both players were elite and none of them spared the other. Just then my brother made a move that endangered Alastar's queen, but the youth had paid attention. When it was his turn, he saved her and at the same time made sure Phin would either lose a pawn or one of his towers. It therefore took my brother some more time to consider his options of how to get himself out of this predicament.

When the compartment door slid open, an aged man looked inside. 'Do any of you want something to eat?' Behind him in the corridor stood a trolley, filled and stacked with lots of pasties and sweets.

I longingly turned to my brother who only shook his head without even looking up at me. I tried begging – or at least I _wanted_ to try – but even before I could open my mouth to say something, he snarled, 'No! You have something to eat in your bag, take that.'

Sulkily I crouched back into my seat, crossing my arms over my chest. I threw my brother a hateful glance – which he returned unperturbed but staring nonetheless. When I no longer could stand his piercing gaze, I turned back to look out of the window.

--

Hours later – darkness had begun to lay itself over the country – the train began slowing down. I sat, my face pressed against the window, waiting for the arrival. My brother and Ursula Flint had gone to fulfil their duties as Prefects, leaving me behind with four sixteen-year-old youths. They didn't acknowledge me being amongst them, but it gave me a funny feeling being surrounded by mostly unknown people.

The train's brakes screeched terribly when it then stopped; it seemed we were in the middle of nowhere. By now the countryside was swallowed by darkness, the only light coming from lamps hanging over the small station. A battered old sign read _Hogsmeade_. We were finally there.

With a loud rumble hundreds of students started to move into the corridor and out onto the station's platform. Excited chatter began to spread, while queues developed and continued moving at the slowest pace. A loud voice called, 'First years over here! First years to me, please!' I looked around but didn't see the caller. Only when I made my way past my brother who stood at the train's door through which I climbed onto the platform, him shoving me into the caller's voice's direction, did I see the woman. She was relatively small, a lantern held high above her head. Several other first years had already assembled themselves around her and I moved to join the growing group of people. Out of nowhere Savaric suddenly was back at my side.

The witch called for more first years several times, then – when no one came anymore and the platform had gone quiet again – she ushered us in another direction than the rest of the students had taken. The path she led us on (I suppose it was a path but because of the pitch blackness around I couldn't see anything) was partly steep, and we had to move carefully in a queue.

After long minutes of stumbling over roots and stones, we reached the shore of a lake, the Great Lake my siblings have told me about. I heard the soft melody of waves swapping against earth even before I had smelled the water, but when the woman stopped and turned around, a fascinated 'Oh!' went through the crowd. In the distance, above the opposite shore, on a stony hill, stood what would be my home for the majority of the next seven years.

'That's Hogwarts. Beautiful, isn't it?'

I had to agree with the witch, who then showed us several small boats with which we supposedly would cross the lake. No more than four would sit in a boat, and I climbed into one containing Savaric, the Searle boy and another person I hadn't made my acquaintance with yet. When no one was left behind standing at the shore, the fleet started to move on its own. Slowly but steadily, we got closer to the castle which shone in its full beauty; the nearer we got, the higher its towers seemed to climb towards the sky. Underneath the rock lay a cave, the boats having set the course towards it.

We arrived at a little underground harbour and climbed up until we stood in front of the huge castle doors. The witch knocked against them three times; then they opened and we were ushered inside.

The hall in which we stood now was… magnificent, to describe it simply. The ceiling vanished high above me and the hall stretched long metres from left to right. Several doors and stairs branched off and led either down or up. From a chamber behind slightly open double doors, chatter waved back into the Entrance Hall – the rest of Hogwarts' population had already arrived.

Another witch had been waiting for us, and she quickly told us about Hogwarts' Sorting Ceremony and houses, points to be won or lost and other things I stopped listening to. I had grown nervous. What house would I be in? Surely Slytherin, like the rest of my family. But then again, mother had been a Ravenclaw. So why not me, too?

Excited chatter started to bubble up around me, and I saw that the witch had gone. Although she turned up again moments later, it didn't stop the whispers flying around. We were told to stand in a long queue; I found Savaric standing to my left side. Then the double doors opened and we were about to face the rest of the students.

The walk through the isle of two long tables was like running through enemies equipped with sharp spears; every eye seemed to have latched on me. I hadn't even the nerve to look around properly (what I regularly did whenever I came to an unknown place). And just then we reached the front of the hall (the Great Hall of which my siblings had told me a lot already), turning around to face the other students, a fifth table in our backs. The second witch placed an old stool in front of us upon which sat an even older, tattered hat. Every eye was turned towards that hat, and I knew why when a crack above the brim opened and the hat started singing.

Too surprised about the hat's ability to speak (and sing), I missed the song, never heard its words, let alone its meaning (if ever there was one). Only when Savaric, now standing to my right, jabbed his elbow into my ribs, I came back to the here and now. The witch had unrolled a long sheet of parchment and was just saying, 'When I call your name, you will come forward, try on the Sorting Hat, then sit with your house.

'Able, Ranulf!'

A tall-grown boy with wavy brown hair staggered forwards, sat and we waited. It took some time, then the hat spoke again – shouted was more like it – 'HUFFLEPUFF!'

The students at the table to my left started applauding while Ranulf went over to sit with them. The witch granted them some time to quiet again, then called, 'Black, Isla!'

Shocked that it would be my turn this early – sure, my surname started with a B, but wasn't there anyone else with an A? – I slowly inched towards the stool and hesitantly sat down. I didn't even now _why_ I was nervous; I had no reason to be. Yet I was, and it was a strange feeling. The witch put the hat onto my head and the brim, being so large, fell over my ears and eyes; everything had gone black.

'_So, what do we have here?'_ a voice murmured within my head. _'A Black… Pride… And there's… Interesting…'_

'What is?' I snarled at the hat, although this weird dialogue took place within my head; I must have gone nuts and hadn't noticed it happening.

'_It slumbers deep inside,'_ the hat continued in an excited whisper, lecturing a dumb child – me. _'Desire for truth.'_

Whatever the hat tried to say with that – might it be important or not – I didn't get it, didn't understand its meaning (maybe I was just too tired and too hungry to concentrate for a few more seconds). I wanted to tell the hat that I needed to get a clearer answer, but it beat me and spoke first:

'_This should get interesting…_ SLYTHERIN!'

* * *

Another huge thank you to my exceptional beta - JadeSullivan. hugs

Chapter four shouldn't be too long before being updated, so stay tuned.

Thanks to all the lovely reviews; they make my day. And please tipe in another one to comment on chapter three - it'll cost you only a few seconds.


	4. Chapter Four: Savaric

– chapter four –

**Savaric**

Slytherin house was situated in the dungeons, and the entrance was through a wall at the dead end of a corridor in the lowest level of the castle. In the wall was a concealed stony door that opened when given the right password, and beyond that lay a large, roomy chamber, furnished with tables and armchairs, all coloured either in silver or green. Opposite the entrance, an ornately carved mantelpiece with a crackling fire dominated the scene. The walls were hung with tapestries, kept in the house colours, showing Salazar Slytherin's crest. Between them hung pictures of Slytherin himself and other famous wizards and witches who had been in Slytherin house in the past. Eerie green lights danced from the ceiling giving the chamber an underwater appearance.

'Well, here we are. That's where you do your homework, study and generally spend your spare time. You girls,' the Prefect that had led us down from the Great Hall said as he turned to me and the other five first-year witches, 'your dorm is over there.' He indicated a door to our right, then turned back to Savaric and the other boys. 'And yours are over to the left. You may follow me.'

While the boys dispersed, the girls and I made our own way over to the right wall. Behind the door there was another corridor; several doors branched off into the different dormitories. There were signs at the wall right next to the doors, indicating what class inhabited the room behind. We walked past three doors, then reached our own.

The dorm contained six four-poster beds, the hangings and bedcovers silver-green. They looked inviting, and suddenly I felt how tired I really was. I scurried over to the bed in front of which my trunk had already been placed. Quickly I removed my shoes and cloak and then fell onto the bed without undressing myself any further, my stomach colliding with the soft mattress. It was comfortably cool – the best temperature for sleeping. With a content sigh I turned over to face the green canopy above, then fell asleep instantaneously.

--

During breakfast the next morning, I got to know some of my fellow Slytherin classmates. The girls of my dorm were all pure-bloods (thank Merlin), one of them from famous Greek ancestry. The boys had been divided into two dormitories due to their quite large number. Savaric now shared his room with three boys named Octavius Montague, Servius Pearce and Atreus Searle, whom I had already met during the first half of our train ride. At least now he had a name. As for the other five occupying the second boys' dorm I couldn't keep their names straight; that was too much information at once for only the first day.

Several seats away from me sat my brother, Ursula Flint and Alastar Silverfire. It seemed they were heatedly discussing something that, according to Atreus, had come up among them the night before. Due to their manners they spoke only to each other – although their hands were either waving or knocking on the table with passion – and kept their voices down so no one else would be able to listen in.

Little by little the students arrived for breakfast, and soon the Great Hall was alive with chatter. I saw several Ravenclaws bend over thick tomes, deeply immersed in the content; my cousin Gwenhyfar was one of them. Students at the Gryffindor table were laughing and talking loudly. The Hufflepuffs were relatively quiet, although I could make out a few people joking.

Rustling sounds announced the arrival of the post. Hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall through an open window near the enchanted ceiling, a blur of diluted colours against the mirrored sunny, cloudless morning. It was hard to believe that the Great Hall didn't simply open into the wide sky above. The owls circled around until they had found their respective owner or addressee, then swept down to land either on or next to the plates. I saw one tawny owl colliding with a chestnut-coloured one and the former fell into a juice mug with a loud _splash_, creating a huge fountain that swept over several Hufflepuffs. The owner extracted her by its feet.

Laughing along with everybody else, I didn't pay attention to what was happening at the Slytherin table. But I was quickly brought back to the present when Orion, the eagle owl of father, pecked the back of my hand with its sharp beak. Looking down and shaking out my now throbbing hand to lessen the pain, I noticed Orion was carrying a letter addressed to me. I inwardly sighed with relief. It wasn't a red one. Lucky me, I hadn't received the Howler I had feared!

The letter was from father, of course, who – like Phin had promised – had learned about my behaviour on the train and was now reprimanding me for it. He promised a thorough punishment as soon as I came back home for the Christmas holidays. I wasn't looking forward to it.

Suddenly all teachers rose, nearly synchronically, four of them working their way down to the students. They were all holding stacks of multi-coloured parchment.

'Our timetables,' Atreus informed us in a know-it-all tone and quite unnecessarily, as I had already guessed that much for myself.

'Morning,' the witch handing out our timetables greeted in a brisk tone. She wore dark green robes, her brown hair tied into a straight knot. Her quite beautiful face was distorted, and her lips were tightly pressed together. Her eyes flickered around rather rapidly. To me she seemed to be exhibiting signs of weakness; as a Black, I was always aware of this sort of thing and would work with that. Yet I was also aware that this woman was Head of Slytherin House. If I didn't want to cause any problems for myself, I would have to behave, seeing as I didn't know how severely she would punish anybody who stepped out of line. Although, Phin had told me she never seemed to mind when he or Elle were acting a little bit out of line. I guess it was her purpose to 'uphold our fine reputation'.

'And you are the youngest sister of Mr Black, I assume?'

I looked up and saw the professor smiling timidly at me; I gave her my most generous one in return.

'That would be me, yes, Professor…?'

'Myth, my name is Sistera Myth.'

'Pleasure, Ma'am,' I mumbled and acknowledged her with a nod of my head.

When she had walked on to hand out the rest of the timetables, I threw a short look over to Savaric. The gleam in his eyes told me he had witnessed that little scene; it was going to be easy with her as our Head of House. Ha! So much for Slytherins being strong…

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Phin trying to get my attention. I turned towards him and saw him interacting with Professor Myth. Although she was talking to him in an amiably manner, her body language was rather cowed and withdrawn. To me it seemed she was trying to make herself smaller than my brother was, even though he was sitting.

After she had gone on, Phin ordered me and Savaric to his side.

'As you have seen, the _professor_,' he began without preamble, emphasising the word "professor" in a way that clearly said what he thought of her, 'is quite young and inexperienced. I don't think that will change.' He leaned comfortably back, looking up at me. 'Therefore, little sister, know that although she may be at least a bit older, _you_ have the power. Don't let her gain the upper hand over you. A Black _never_ allows that.'

'Understood,' I responded when he gave me a piercing glance, scrutinising my face.

'The same goes for you, Savaric. We Blacks as well as the Orwells are superiors in our world. Always remember that and all doors will stand wide open for the both of you.'

'I'll keep that in mind. And I'll remember for Isla, should she forget,' Savaric said; I narrowed my eyes dangerously at him. But Savaric only smirked as he continued, 'In the highly unlikely event that it will ever happen.' My brain busied itself by thinking murderous thoughts, and I would have very much liked to strangle Savaric. But a slap against the back of my head from Phin reminded me to behave like a lady.

--

The months flew by, and we all settled in to a routine. I went to classes regularly, had meals with the other students and did my homework in the library – the biggest one I've ever seen (father's is tiny in comparison to it). I preferred the hushed silence of the library to the tense air of our common room. It was _okay_ to be down there, but after only two months I needed to get out. So I used the excuse that I had to look up facts in books and vanished within the library's vast isles, where most of the time I had a table for myself.

Charms and Transfiguration had soon become my favourite subjects, as the spells were the easiest one for me to master. The other classes were interesting, too, at least after the professors had stopped only letting us take notes. By the beginning of December, when the first snow started to fall and covered the Scottish landscape in a bright grey-white, I had already mastered several common spells and used them regularly.

As suspected, classes with Professor Myth were kind of a joke. She taught History of Magic, which is interesting in itself, but with the way she taught – albeit grippingly told, she always acted inferior to us pure-bloods – it had quickly become… boring. I soon hated that subject and promised myself to not learn anything for tests; I did well enough without any work.

--

One Monday morning I woke up feeling cheery inside. The air smelled like Christmas and the snow, although already blanketing the ground for at least two weeks, promised that holidays were approaching fast. One more week and we would be at home for another two.

My dorm mate Virginis was already up and dressed, combing her long raven hair in front of the life-size mirror she had ordered to be brought into our room. It was useful to all six of us, since in the first week we kind of worked out a plan of who would sit in front of it in which order. When she noticed me moving, she turned around and looked at me, wishing, 'Good morning.'

'To you, too,' I responded, sliding my legs out of bed. The stone floor was icy cold, but my fleecy slippers kept my feet warm until I put on my socks.

We didn't talk much, never had in the mornings, even when the other four girls had woken up. Virginis left the dorm half an hour later; she was the first ready to go up for breakfast. It would only be a little bit longer before I would be able to join her at the Slytherin table.

The last week before the holidays went by in a blur like the rest of the previous four months, and before I knew it, I was sitting in the train again, journeying back to London.

--

Christmas had come and gone quietly and peacefully, and now the preparations for the New Year's Party were undergoing. This year the party would be held at the Orwells' house, south of London in the country. They had a huge manor where hundreds of the most influential witches and wizards were going to celebrate the change of year. Children were allowed, but we wouldn't be in the same hall as the adults; a small fraction of the house was always assigned to us, where house-elves could keep watch over us. Elle and I would be with the other children, and Phin would be with the adults for his first time. He had turned seventeen in August and was now legally of age.

Mother had busied Themis with Elle's and my party dresses; it was always a must to have new and beautiful dresses for us. And I looked forward to it. This year's dress would be made of dark green velvet that shimmered blue ever so slightly when it was in the right light. White lace lined the collar, arms and skirt hem. I had already seen it when I tried it on, and in my opinion it really looked fantastic. I think it was mother's intention to get a young lad to notice me, tell his parents and let betrothal follow. It was the usual way to find a suitable husband. But surely my parents were already obsessed with Savaric being their future son-in-law?

'Isla, hurry! We want to leave in twenty minutes!' screeched my sister through the house. She was already wearing her dress (violet silk with faint black accents) and had her hair done. I groaned at the stress of getting ready so quickly, then jumped when tiny hands pushed me towards a chair. Themis had a habit of pushing me around until I found a chair to sit in.

'Sit, Miss, and Themis is doing your hair,' the elf ordered me. With practised hands she took the brush, combed my hair and wove every single strand into a hairstyle so intricate that even the Queen would have fainted from jealousy. I felt like a fairytale princess.

--

Half an hour later we arrived at Orwell Manor. If I had to describe it with one single word, I would say that the manor was huge. I'd been six years old when I had seen it for the first time in my life, and it had been more than just impressive. It had been… indescribable. And in some ways it still was. There was a main building, bigger than the attached wings and decorated in a splendiferous manner that would make the guests green with envy, even though the majority of them were used to richness and splendid decorations. The wings were fantastic in their own way, yet incomparable to the main building, where the long, high-ceilinged entrance hall and gigantic ballroom were located. I've only seen the ballroom once, when we hadn't been visiting on a social occasion with hundreds of guest swarming around, unlike tonight when men were clad in traditional black and white robes and ladies donned their most beautiful dresses.

I had been drifting off, daydreaming once again until a smack against the back of my head brought me back to my current surroundings. Annoyed, I shifted my head to see who had reprimanded me, only to catch sight of father's scowling face. I gulped, heat crawling into my cheeks. Mouthing a quick _sorry_, I hurried to get out of father's reach. Luckily my sister had already directed her steps to the East Wing where the children would celebrate. I had barely reached her when someone grasped my arm, holding me back. When I turned around, I found myself face to face with father.

'Just to make one thing clear, Isla,' he harshly whispered, silently enough that no one except me heard those words. 'We are going to have another long talk about that daydreaming of yours. And it's _not going to be pleasant_.' He emphasised each word of the last sentence in a tone that meant I had another punishment coming as soon as we got back home.

His grip around my upper arm tightened one last painful time. I tried to keep myself from wincing but failed miserably. Father stood, turned me around and pushed me towards Savaric, who I just noticed was standing in the doorway watching us. I didn't risk looking back; I only heard father swiftly walk back to mother and the hosts, reconvening their earlier, amiable conversation.

'You all right?' Savaric asked in a rough whisper, looking over my shoulder to where father stood, not meeting my eyes.

I nodded curtly, then walked past him and turned towards the chamber where the other children already were. It was not difficult to find the chamber as I already knew the house, and I could clearly hear the screaming and talking of excited children of all ages. I intended to make myself invisible throughout the evening to avoid curious glances and questions from Elle and Savaric, but whenever I planned something it always seemed to go wrong.

Savaric caught me the instant I moved to open the door. He grabbed my hand gently, yet firmly, and stopped my proceedings. When I turned around to snarl at him, he put his second hand over my mouth and silenced my angry retort. I was perplexed; never before had he acted that way, at least not with me.

'What was that back there?' he hissed into my ear, leaning forward, so close I could feel his breath on my neck. 'Did you do something that angered him?'

'What?' I asked in return and he swiftly took his hand from my mouth to hear me. 'How…'

'Don't lie to me, Isla.' His tone was like ice.

I gulped. There was no possible way to fool someone like Savaric. He, unlike me, was very attentive to his surroundings and managed to hear and see things that he shouldn't. This was the way he had learned to read other people's behaviour and gestures – had learned to see beyond things other people wouldn't notice. Like my daydreaming and father reprimanding me for it.

Mumbling my answer in whispers and stutters I told him how I had been daydreaming. I knew I had given him something he could blackmail me with at any given time. Me or my family for that matter. And when I ended and risked a glance into his dark brown eyes, I saw the confirmation to my assumption. What would he do with this information?

But I had no chance to think more about it because he suddenly smiled, then quickly bent down and kissed me fully on my mouth. I was… shocked, to say the least. That was new to me.

Before I could begin to comprehend what had just happened, his lips were gone and Savaric had left me standing in the hallway, eyes and mouth wide open in surprise and confusion. My breathing went rapid, and I could clearly hear my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Why did I feel this way? Never before had I received a kiss. And surely not from a boy my age, who could easily become my husband in future. But then why was my heart beating this furiously, my breath hitching? Did I like Savaric? Sure thing.

But did I love him? I didn't know.

--

Sometime during the evening, someone took my hand and led me into the chamber. He or she sat with me on one of the benches lined up at the wall and then started talking to me. At first I didn't hear the words spoken, as I was still held up in my thoughts. But when the name 'Savaric' reached my ears, I slowly surfaced and was again able to take in my surroundings. I was sitting with Asterion, my cousin on father's side.

'Hey there,' he smiled when he noticed life coming back into my glazed-over eyes. 'You okay?'

Smiling back at him shortly, I bent forwards and hid my face in my hands. Blood began rushing into my head as the previous events became much clearer, although Savaric's intention behind that kiss was still a mystery to me. And come to think of it, where was he? I remembered him walking in a different direction other than the children's chamber.

'Isla?' Asterion, whom I fondly called Rion, sounded worried. Slowly I lifted myself into an upright position again.

'I think I'll be,' I said, answering his first question. Seemingly satisfied, he leaned back. 'Sometime.' The last I had only mumbled, and over the noise of the younger children, he hadn't heard me.

My cousin talked me into eating something, then found a quiet corner and sat with me. We didn't talk. He simply opened a chessboard and assembled the figures. I chose white, and we started playing several rounds. The first three he won overwhelmingly, but as soon as I had banned Savaric out of my mind and had regained my concentration, Rion didn't stand a chance. After seven losing games in a row, he gave up and put away the chess pieces.

Thanks to Rion I was happy again. While he was busy with clearing up the table, I leaned back in my chair and had a good look around. Most of the children I knew from previous years and other parties; several were older than me and some were classmates of my sister. Phin's friends were with the adults this year.

Rion excused himself to fetch us something to drink. But as soon as he had gone, the door in the opposite wall opened, and in came my brother. He stood, glancing over the running, screaming, babbling crowd, and then he found me in my corner. Swiftly he walked over, successfully bypassing three little boys wrestling on the floor and a group of chatting girls that had spread a blanket, celebrating a royal tea party and picnicking in the middle of the room with several porcelain dolls as their guests. Phin stopped directly in front of the table, throwing a shadow over me and obstructing my clear view over the chamber. No longer able to look around, I craned my neck to see him.

'Your attendance is requested in the ballroom.' When I made no immediate sign to move, he leaned slightly over, his torso supported by his hands on the table's surface. 'Father insisted. So move. Now!' he whisper-ordered me.

Inwardly groaning and sighing, I slowly stood. My impatient brother grabbed my arm and dragged me through the crowd of people, who luckily didn't notice a thing, and into the hall leading to the adults' party.

'Rion has gone to fetch me a juice,' I tried to justify my staying; being ordered to father was never a good sign.

'Forget about that now. There are much more pressing matters to be discussed.'

'Such as?'

Phin didn't even look back at me once. He continued to quickly walk down the halls, occasionally turning left or right, my steps echoing loudly whereas his were literally non-existent.

'You'll learn soon enough. Now,' we had reached the double doors to the ballroom, 'be silent and behave like a lady.' He let go of me and in the same moment gave me a push towards the exquisite entrance. I tried to turn around, but my brother opened the doors and I had no more chance to flee. Gulping I straightened myself and 'walked with every pride I call my own' (as father always phrased it) towards my parents. They stood in the middle of the crowd, talking lively with the hosts as well as the Malfoys, another well-respected and influential family. When they caught sight of me and Phin approaching, all fell silent, immediately abandoning their discussions mid-sentence, it seemed.

'Malfoy, may I introduce my youngest? Her name is Isla and she started Hogwarts this previous September.'

'A pleasure, young lady,' Mr Malfoy purred, taking my hand and planting a kiss on its back.

I smiled as warmly as possible, although, if it wouldn't have caused a scandal, I would have liked to snatch my hand away and slapped him with the other one; his kiss was so disgusting. I even had to force myself not to wipe my hand off on my dress.

'Nice to meet you… sir,' I feigned friendliness and curtseyed.

'Oh, how sweet,' Mrs Malfoy exclaimed, sounding fascinated, completely ignoring the hesitance in my response. 'You should count yourself so lucky. I wish my son was already her age…'

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mrs Orwell smiling widely. She mumbled a response, which sounded like something along the line of 'My son has good taste.' Now I was very confused.

All six adults started talking again as I stood next to their group, completely forgotten. I didn't care because although I was able to listen in on what they were saying, I didn't understand the meaning of it. All I got was that, apparently, Savaric had gone straight to my father after our little… encounter.

'Isla, this is your moment now. You are so lucky to be chosen by him,' mother suddenly spoke to me, stopping the flow of my thoughts. My head swivelled in her direction so fast my neck cracked.

'Chosen? I don't understand…'

Father patted my shoulder, then turned to Mr Orwell. Out of nowhere Savaric had appeared at his side and stared at me, a satisfied smirk on his lips. The question mark I felt swirling within my head must have shown on my face, because father took my hand and laid it into Savaric's.

'This is a fine day for all of us, especially for you, Isla. Savaric is just perfect for you. You are made for each other.'

Understanding slowly dawned on me and, shaking slightly, I turned to look at mother who wiped away some tears of joy with a handkerchief.

'From now on, you are both betrothed by my announcement,' father said proudly, patting my shoulder a second time.

Fear and darkness crept over me; I never felt my body hit the floor.

* * *

Thanks again to my fantastic beta JadeSullivan. Without her the hassles I had with this chapter wouldn't have get solved.

As always I'd like to know what you think of it. Please take your time to tell me in a few words your opinion to this chapter.

Chapter five is with my beta and chapter six is written, too. Therefore it shouldn't be too long until there's an update. Thanks for sticking with my story so far.


	5. Chapter Five: Stanton Drew

– chapter five –

**Stanton Drew**

The sound of shoes on the floor woke me in the early morning hours. Reddish sunlight still streamed through the window into the single room and painted shadows on the wall next to my bed, shadows of Healers moving alongside their counterparts, weaving in and out of my view. Another shadow fought its way into my view from the other side, and I rolled my head on my pillow, looking up at a familiar face.

'How are you feeling?'

Mother sat at the side of my bed, looking worried. Her light brown hair was rumpled, strands escaping her French twist, and the shadows under her eyes told me she hadn't slept that night.

'Better, I think,' I whispered, my throat aching and dry.

She smiled, and a friendly light crept into her blue eyes. 'Good to hear,' she sighed in relief as she leaned forward, taking a glass from the bedside table and offering it to me; it was filled with fresh, cool water. I took a huge gulp to relieve the awful pain in my throat, then continued to quench my thirst with much smaller sips. In the meantime mother told of last night's happenings while affectionately stroking my hair, and I snuggled back into the pillow.

Apparently I had been unconscious for several hours, to say the least. Father thought it would have been enough to let me rest in one of the Orwells' guest rooms, but mother argued against it since I was so pale. I looked like a ghost. Finally, he had consented to bring me to St. Mungo's.

'You'll see, all will turn out just fine,' Mother soothed. 'It will be a happy moment for you as well as us.'

I had become drowsy again and was tempted to slip back into sleep, but her last words brought me back to consciousness, and I remembered the reason _why_ I lay in hospital in the first place.

As carefully as possible I spoke, 'Mama… I… Don't take this the wrong way, but… I don't think it's going to be. All right, I mean.'

'What do you mean?' Her tone turned sharp and several degrees colder. She had just been leaning against me, but at my words of uncertainty, she sat up straight, disconnecting bodily contact between us.

'It's just…' I hesitated, but upon seeing her stern gaze I gathered the courage to phrase my thoughts. 'Isn't it a bit early to celebrate my betrothal? To have me engaged at all when I'm only eleven years old?'

'You _do_ like Savaric, do you not?'

'Sure, I do. I've known him all my life. How could I not like him? But –'

'Then there's nothing to worry about.' She stood and towered over me. 'The ceremony of your official betrothal will be held during the Easter holidays, on your 12th birthday. And I won't hear anything more against it.' Curbing my protest mid-thought, she turned around and left me alone – just as the Healers had when I awoke.

--

The following weeks I felt strangely terrible. I didn't know why, because it made me proud to think of being married into a family like the Orwells, to become the wife of their heir, to one day carry and give birth to Savaric's son. But somehow the idea of getting engaged to him gave me the feeling that it would be the worst mistake of my entire life.

I was in Hogwarts' library on a dark evening at the end of January. In the rear part of the library, I had found a place to sit on one of the windowsills; a thick volume lay open in my lap. Several rolled up parchments were on the floor, ready to be taken back into the common room. But after I had finished my school assignments, I hadn't felt like going back down, yet. Instead I had indiscriminately grabbed a book and started reading, occasionally looking up and out of the window. Although it was now so dark that I couldn't see anything outside anymore, again and again I gazed over grounds, but I had completely zoned out.

While daydreaming (once again, if father knew…) I remembered a legend that was told to me seven months ago, the one about the silver fir. Father had declared it to be _only_ that, a legend told to entertain or frighten. But I had believed it to be more, and still did. Without knowing it, I had grabbed a book about legends, the one lying open in my lap. After flipping through several of them, I found the one Mr Ollivander had mentioned.

But in the book it went further. Towards the end it said that it was known what the girl had been looking for. When I read that, my heart started beating faster and my curiosity reached a level that I had never experienced before. I turned the page…

… and found nothing. It was empty, blank.

Disappointed I quickly closed the book. The librarian shuffling by reprimanded me in a harsh tone when she heard the offending noise of the book snapping shut. Not caring what would happen, I threw the book onto the floor – where it landed with a loud _thud_ –, gathered my essays and walked briskly past the librarian who, by then, was screeching like a Banshee, her fingers bent into claws, ready to scratch my eyes out. Any other time I would have sympathised with her if a student treated the valuable books the way I just had, but not that day. I was in a furious mood and wasn't afraid to show it.

On my way down to the Slytherin common room I came across several Gryffindors on the second floor, laughing about nothing. Stifling the tears that had welled up, I desired nothing more than to get back to my dorm to hide under my bedcover, but instead, Slytherin's enemies stopped laughing about whatever had occupied their thoughts and pointed at me with their fingers. I was their new joke.

I had never been laughed at before; fury rose within me, the blood rushing into my ears, deafening me to any other sound around. Swivelling around as fast as possible, the urge to cry forgotten, I shouted every curse that came to my mind into their laughing faces. But since I didn't have my wand with me, nothing happened. This was fortunate for the three youths, because some of the curses I yelled would have caused them severe damage, possibly even killed them. They soon stopped laughing when my words penetrated their brains; they drew their wands and began circling around me, ready to attack like wolves surrounding an innocent sheep.

Being raised as a Black, I had never been in such a situation before; I wasn't used to being frightened. And now I definitely was. Nonetheless, I assessed my possibilities:

Chance of unexpected help?

_Rather slim._

Possibility of defending myself?

_Without my wand – not really._

Opportunities to run away?

_None._

_Shit…_

And the worst was that my inner turmoil had calmed down again, allowing me to notice every single detail happening around me. I would have preferred to stay in that ecstatic bubble, as this situation was rapidly going-down-the-drain.

The Gryffindors were about to fire spells at me when someone suddenly shouted loudly, 'Hey!' Hurried footsteps told me this person was running towards us. 'What are you doing?'

The caller arrived where we stood and silence fell. I risked a glance to the left from where the person had been coming, and there stood Savaric, his wand in hand, his face distorted with anger. His eyes flashed with wild determination. Without waiting to be told what had happened – giving the Gryffindors little chance to retaliate – Savaric fired the first curse that must have come to his mind. Unfortunately for the Gryffindors – and probably later for Savaric, too, I assumed – it was a sharp one, causing all three of them to shriek in pain as soon as they were hit with it.

Time seemed to have slowed down considerably; I couldn't move. I opened my mouth to shout, to stop Savaric, but nothing came out. I wanted to run to him, to take the wand from him, but my legs wouldn't obey my brain's orders.

Small, crystal daggers were flying, repeatedly cutting the skin of the Gryffindor boys. Blood trickled down from where the daggers had scratched them. One of the boys lost so much blood, his skin paled shade after shade until he resembled the Bloody Baron – Slytherin's house ghost. He was about to faint, but the oncoming daggers kept him moving as he unsuccessfully tried to step out of their way. But there were too many of them; every one of the daggers hit skin.

More footsteps echoed along the corridor. Surely attracted by the noise, the librarian as well as three teachers and dozens of students came running towards us, Professor Myth among them. She quickly assessed the situation, then mumbled the incantation for a Shield Charm; the daggers were still flying, but no longer hitting their targets. All three youths sank down to the floor, breathing heavily and still losing blood. My face must have mirrored the horror in theirs. The librarian was busy keeping the students out of harms way, the group's shouts of shock and anger clearly audible over the drumming of crystal daggers against a powerful shield. Meanwhile, the other two teachers, Professors Clayfield and Syrett, approached Savaric with their wands drawn. Carefully they took aim; then both shot their spells into his direction at the same time.

I could move again – faster than ever before. With three huge steps I was at Savaric's side, pushing him out of harm's way.

Under normal circumstances, a first year would never have been able to cast a Shield Charm. But this wasn't a normal situation. And Savaric wasn't just any regular student. He was an Orwell. He was able to wield powerful magic.

When he had seen the jinxes or whatever they had fired at him approaching, he had chosen one of them and had shielded himself (and eventually me) against it, successfully neutralising its power. But he hadn't considered the idea that I might try to interfere. The second spell should have hit him, but since I had pushed him aside, it hit _me_ full force.

A Stunning Spell.

Savaric stared dumbstruck at me as I started falling backwards. Everything and everybody had gone completely silent, the daggers had vanished. I heard only one single thing – my name.

'Isla!'

I looked over to him, to the boy who had been my friend since early childhood, to my soon-to-be-betrothed. He looked guilty; his mouth was open, his lips forming a shout. But I didn't see it. All I noticed was a boy standing in the crowd, directly behind Savaric. He wore a yellow tie and looked at me with the same expression I had once seen during my first train ride shortly before Atreus Searle had slapped the back of his hand against my mouth. Blue eyes had haunted my dreams ever since, and they followed me again when I sank to the floor, unconscious.

--

I awoke the next morning in the Hospital Wing. My chest where the Stunning Spell had hit me hurt, as well as my back. I inhaled deeply to test my breathing, but thank Merlin, it worked as always. A content sigh escaped my lips when I exhaled again.

'According to Healer Aramus, you're fine, no severe injuries.'

Lifting my head off the pillow I saw a tall figure standing in front of the window. The sunlight forbade me to see more than just the person's contours.

'Luckily, the same can be said about Misters Howe, Stanley and Winkar. But,' he turned around, his face still hidden in the shadows, 'being hit with something sharp could easily have left scars, physically as well as mentally.' The man had come over and now stood at the foot of the hospital bed I occupied. 'Your friend Mr Orwell has risked the lives of three people.'

Thoughts like _I'm sorry_ as well as _I don't care, they started it_ shot through my brain, fighting against each other. The last thought I had wasn't true, however, I realised seconds later, because Savaric had been the first to curse them, even though they had had their wands out first and had been ready to hex me. Shaking my head slightly to get rid of the ridiculousness and the emotional chaos still raging within my soul, none of the thoughts prevailed in my inner battle. I said nothing.

Professor Kasteros remained silent, also. He just looked at me, his eyes showing something I had never experienced before:

Pity.

It took some time before I was finally able to speak. 'What's going to happen?'

He smiled sadly at me. 'A severe punishment awaits Mr Orwell, Miss Black. His parents have already been notified and I have received news that they are on their way here. They should arrive any moment now.'

'Will he be okay?' I whisper-asked; I was afraid for him.

'I am certain; he is strong. However, for his own safety, as well as for everyone else's, we currently have him under strict guard.' The headmaster turned to leave but stopped again. 'Be informed that your detention is going to be tomorrow evening, 18 o'clock. Meet Professor Doherty in the Great Hall.'

Surely I had misheard him? 'Wait!' I shouted after the headmaster, bringing myself into an upright sitting position. 'What do you mean, _my_ detention? I haven't done anything but be hit by a Stunning Spell which – if I may remind you – was _not my_ fault since I didn't cast it.'

He had stopped a second time and turned around slowly, emitting a silent warning. 'This I know. And that is not the reason why you have received detention, Miss Black, as well as it is not a reason to speak to me in that way.' He held his hand up to stop my harsh comment. 'But I have learned that _you_ have, firstly, mistreated school property and, secondly, shouted curses at Misters Howe, Stanley and Winkar, several of which are banned from this school. No student should ever know such curses. And,' he spoke up louder because I was about to interrupt him again, 'as long as _I_ am Headmaster of Hogwarts, I will _not_ tolerate Dark Magic within its walls.'

--

I returned to classes the next morning after Healer Aramus had declared me healthy. Some places on me were still sore and surely _would _be for some time, but I could move, which was better than just lying in bed without anything to do.

Savaric was still in custody and I didn't receive word of what his punishment would be. Or whether he had already got it. But I had no more nerves to worry about him; the idea of my own detention was troubling enough.

Throughout the day I buried myself in work and assignments, not speaking to anybody. The only one I would talk to was the little notebook I had made myself out of parchment, the only one I could tell all my worries, ideas, thoughts.

Fears.

It became my solace, my sanctuary. I could write down everything – and it never looked back at me strangely.

--

Five minutes before the scheduled meeting time I went towards the Entrance Hall, wondering what kind of detention I would have to sit through. Professor Doherty surely had some really disgusting ways to keep a student busy during the detention, considering the fact that he was the Potions Master. I had heard other students talk about having been made to sort through Flobberworms, slugs or other slimy things. Ugh. I shuddered and swore I would never touch any of those, except when using them as ingredients for a potion.

The first surprise awaiting me was that I wasn't going to be serving detention on my own. Upon walking into the Entrance Hall I saw the anonymous boy from the train sitting on one of the steps of the grand staircase that led to the upper floors of the castle, waiting. He drew random patterns with the tip of one of his shoes on the ground. But when he noticed me standing in front of him, he looked up and grinned apologetically, then stood hurriedly and extended his hand, offering it in greeting.

I didn't take it.

After some moments of heavy silence and mutual staring, the outstretched arm slowly sank back to the boy's side, the expression in his eyes morphing with question.

'Just because I'm not the child of a witch and wizard?'

Yes, only because.

_But why?_ Why was he different? He was a boy, just like Savaric. He could do magic, just like Savaric.

And yet we saw him as something inferior.

--

The weeks flew by without me noticing much of it. February and March came and went like every year, and soon April stood at the doorstep. My twelfth birthday was only another week away; then the betrothal ceremony would undergo.

Savaric had been released out of custody after four days. He had never told me anything about his punishment, but rumours had been flying, and everyone figured it must have been so hard that none of us could imagine the severity of it. I knew first-hand that Atreus had tried to coax the kind of punishment out of Savaric, but the latter had resolutely kept quiet.

With every new, passing day I grew more anxious. Was I doing the right thing? Had I chosen correctly? But then again, I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. He had chosen me, and my parents had agreed to his proposition. That thought went into my self-made parchment diary, too, another point for my own sanctuary.

And then suddenly, April seventh had arrived. According to mother, it would be the day of all days in my entire young life.

--

The Circles of Stanton Drew were the second largest prehistoric ceremonial site of Great Britain. It consisted of three rings, two smaller ones, each around 100 feet on average, and the Great Ring, around 370 feet in diameter. Only some of the many monoliths defining the rings were still standing, the others lay on the ground, due to natural influences. I had never been to this ancient place before, but have read a lot about it because it is one of the most important sites of the wizarding world. It held an ancient magic that surged through flesh and bone the moment one arrived within seeing distance, and nobody was defied against its attraction.

And it would be the place where I would get bound to Savaric Orwell – by oath.

My family assembled around me as soon as we appeared in the moor after Apparating to this site from our London home, and father drew his wand. While he wove it over me in two circles, my dress changed into dark green, traditional robes that stood in direct contrast to my light skin colour. With a second sweep of his wand over the others' dresses and robes, their colour changed, too, father's robes included. He pocketed his wand afterwards, then turned towards the Great Ring where the betrothal ceremony would take place.

The nearer we got to the centre of the Great Ring, the more powerful the magic waves whizzing through the air became. The crackling air was like the electrical flicker one experiences after a powerful storm with thunder and lightning; you could practically touch it.

'Isla!'

Startled out of my reveries by father's impatient call – when would my daydreaming end? – I hurried to follow him and the rest of my family. With long, hastened strokes I stood in front of my father, who surprisingly remained silent without reprimanding me for my bad habit.

The invited guests as well as the Orwells were already there, the former clad in their most festive robes whereas the Orwells had donned the same traditional robes we were wearing. Savaric, Sybil and their parents stood just outside a huge monolith that was still standing, and together with its twin stone, it created the entrance to the Great Ring. A priest and two other men wearing dark green cloaks with hoods were preparing the ceremony in the circle's middle. While walking over to Savaric, preparing to undergo the ceremony, I felt the magic whiz around me again, reminding me _why_ I was there. It reminded me also that as soon as I had vowed the oath, I would forever be bound to Savaric due to the magical seal of this holy place. Cutting this bond would mean death. (_see **note** further down_)

The priest's preparations didn't take long and the ceremony was about to begin. He begged Savaric and me to come towards him, into the very centre of the Great Ring; then he waved his arms to signal our families to spread out in order to create a half-circle around us. The guests were to stand in a large circle, only a few inches away from the ring. When everything was set according to traditional law, the priest began.

'Today two souls are to be bound to each other, two spirits that will share their future as one. Youth rules their characters, yet passion lies beneath. So let the flame of unity be kindled and have its fire bear witness to this ceremony.' The cloaked priest lit a candle, then held it to the basin of coals in front of him. A bright yellow-orange flame came to life with a crackling _whush_; then it burned steadily. The priest turned back to Savaric and me. 'May the flames keep warm the souls of those who came before us.'

He crossed his arms over his chest, then turned completely around once, stopped and bowed slightly in each of the four points of the compass, beginning with the North. Every time he stood upright again, he called the spirits of each point. 'Northern winds, western waters, southern fire, eastern earth. Come, we ask you now to bless this union and to protect it through each day of its existence.' When he had completed nature's circle and turned towards us again, his arms were still crossed across his chest, but slowly, as if praying to the heavens, he opened them in a wide, welcoming gesture.

A horn sounded, blown by one of the priest's aids, and we were asked to face each other. 'Now put the Circle of Fidelity upon her head.' The wreath Savaric laid upon my head was woven out of thistles, the plant symbol of ancient times; it stood for growth and endurance in hard times.

A horn sounded a second time, this time from another direction. The priest asked me to put the Totem of Bravery around Savaric's neck, then to kneel before him to show my respect towards his courage and bravery.

'_How come people bow to each other? Either you're a human, or you're not. If we're all humans and equal, then we shouldn't have to bow or kneel before anyone. Don't you think?'_

The priest took our hands and laid them into each other, Savaric's covering mine. He then took a ribbon, its green colour standing for hope.

'Respect for bravery.' He wrapped the ribbon around our hands once; this time both horns sounded at the same time. All of a sudden a powerful surge shot through my entire being, as if I had been struck by lightning. Ancient magic poured within my veins, sealing our bond, and my head started to feel light.

'Honour for patience.' The ribbon was wrapped around our wrists for the second time; the two horns sounded again. Another surge of magic shot through me, more powerful than before. My head was now spinning.

'Light over happiness.' The third layer was wrapped, the horns' tone lasting, echoing over the ancient site. I became strangely light-headed when a third, even more powerful bolt of magic shot through me.

'Darkness on disagreement.' The fourth magical power surge met me unprepared; its power was so strong that I likely would have fallen unconscious if it hadn't been for Savaric and the ribbon binding myself to him. His strength wove through me and held me upright. Had the magic beforehand lessened after weaving through me, it now pulsed steadily, fuelling my heartbeat.

The priest laid his hands on our heads, his face directed to the sky. 'A union out of spiritual blessing. May everything you value blossom. May your cups be filled with health and good fortune. May your steps from all ends of the world lead you home under leadership of the homing star. May your search be successful. May the Gods bless you and your home.'

Savaric looked into my eyes, holding them locked onto his own. 'You are as beautiful as the sun; you are like the morning rays that dawn over an endless day. It brightens mine. I vow to stand by your side. Always.'

'_Compliments and admiration are always good. But being compared to things or treated like one isn't what you want to hear. Girls and women want to hear unique compliments about themselves, men, too. It shows real affection when someone you love comes up with a compliment no one has ever used before.'_

'Your heart is pure,' I said, being on turn, banning the memory of another day not too long ago out of my currently actively working mind. My voice quivered slightly. 'Your spirit is strong. You give me strength and joy. I vow to stand by your side. Always.'

'"_Always" is such a definite word. No one can do as he promises when he says "always". It's proven that 90 percent of promises will eventually be broken.'_

'The rite is complete. Witnesses testify this bond and proclaim it to be rightfully done. The bond is set. Death shall meet the one that violates the oath.' The priest directly addressed Savaric with his next question. 'You promise to hold her in honour and respect over your own welfare?'

Savaric straightened up, his head held high, answering, 'I promise.'

The priest turned to me then and asked, 'You promise to hold him in honour and respect over your own welfare?'

Out of my subconscious another surfacing memory made me pause.

'_You need friends.'_

'_What?'_

'_Friends help you be happy.'_

'_I am happy.'_

'_I don't think you are. You don't laugh. If you were happy, you would be laughing. But you don't. You feel sad. But when you feel sad, you have to laugh in order to become happy again.'_

'_Laughing when you're sad to become happy? That's stupid.'_

'_It's not. Try it and you'll see. Promise me?'_

'I promise.'

* * *

**Note:** Death here doesn't only refer to the obvious meaning; it also implies being _thought_ dead since one is no longer considered part of the Black Family when betraying it in any way.

* * *

**AN 1:** The idea for the betrothal ceremony has its origins in the wedding ceremony of Rya'c and Ka'ryn, to be seen in Stargate SG-1, Season 8, episode 162 "Sacrifices" from which I used some spoken sentences, too. And according to Celtic traditions, two people were betrothed in an act of Handfasting, which has a lot of similarities to the actual wedding ceremony.

**AN 2:** The last italic written memory of Isla is, although slightly bent for my purposes, from the dialogue between Niko Robin and ex-Vice Admiral Sauros of the Japanese Anime TV-series "One Piece". The German title of this episode reads "Das Teufelsmädchen" – rough English translation would be "The girl of the Devil" or "The Devil's girl".

* * *

I apologise for the wait, but there were some parts of this chapter to be co-ordinated with chapter six, which I got back just recently and which is still in the editing phase. But I want to thank JadeSullivan for doing an amazing job with the story.

A huge thank you goes to all my readers and a (slightly) bigger thank you to those who have found the few seconds to leave a review. That would be _ObsidianEmbrace_, _Fawkes Song_, _Revolutionary Jurist _and _JadeSullivan_. Thank you.


	6. Chapter Six: Solaris Stella

– chapter six –

**Solaris Stella**

'For the next two months we are going to work and learn in teams,' our Astronomy professor proclaimed in the first class of term. He spoke with the air of someone for whom Christmas had come early – even though it was only September. Everyone in Hogwarts knew that he had strange, revolutionary teaching methods, but he always managed to teach what he was supposed to teach according to the syllabus that the School Department of the Ministry provided. 'And I want to reach several goals with that,' he continued.

'First, it shall give you the chance to learn how to explore complex topics. Second, you will actively learn something from your own insights.

'And last but not least, working in teams will serve inter-house unity, because the pairs will consist of one Hufflepuff and one Slytherin student each.'

Along with my fellow classmates, I groaned for several reasons. Sure, working by yourself on a long-term project at your own pace is a really good way to try and test your abilities. But not if you have to be partnered with someone you don't know.

Heads started to turn around, whispers flew wildly; everyone seemed to wonder who would be working with whom, but no one made the first move.

Maybe Professor Datum had expected that…

He gave us enough time to get our worries up; then he unrolled a piece of parchment. 'To ease your decisions about who your team partner shall be,' he exclaimed in his light-hearted manner, 'I have taken care of the pairing already. You needn't accept my propositions, of course, if your mind is already set on one of your classmates.' Again, no one said anything. A light smile played around the professor's lips as he started reading off names:

'Miss Greenwood and Mr Orwell.'

I saw Savaric curl his lips, but he didn't say anything; she was a pure-blood after all. The girl turned around to get a look at my desk partner from the front of the classroom. Her eyes were expressionless, and I couldn't interpret what she was thinking.

'Miss Demares and Mr Able. Miss Black and Mr Hitchens.'

'Never!' Savaric suddenly shouted, standing and pushing back his chair so hard it scratched across the stone floor. 'I won't allow her to be partnered with a Mudblood!'

Angry mutters erupted from the Hufflepuffs; Ranulf Able who sat next to the boy I had been partnered with was red in the face. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to take revenge, but Professor Datum silenced all talk with one wave of his wand.

'First, Mr Orwell, I won't have such language in my classroom. Twenty points from Slytherin. And second, why concern yourself with whom Miss Black will be partnered?'

I knew what Savaric was about to say – at least I _guessed_ I knew, provided he would have been able to phrase his argument against Professor Datum's Silencing Charm – and therefore felt the need to interfere. 'It's bearable, Savaric,' I whispered, surprisingly able to do so; I hadn't been silenced with the professor's charm. 'It's only for two months, three times a week. Please, do not land yourself in detention for something as trivial as this.'

The foreboding look he pierced me with skewered my heart.

--

The project Hitchens and I would have to explore was the relation between the sun and stars; we would also have to explain how and why the sun was responsible for the change of the star constellations over hundreds of years. It meant a huge amount of research that needed much more time than we had at our disposal in regular lessons. We therefore decided to additionally spend half an hour daily after dinner and every second Saturday to work on the project Hitchens had called 'Solaris Stella'.

He wasn't shy; I had secretly watched him. He was easy-going and made new friends within seconds, was _very_ talkative, and had to move regularly because sitting still for long periods was his doom. He granted help to all who needed it, and his classmates respected him for that.

Also, his worldview was very liberally orientated.

At first we worked in silence, each doing our own part of the research, but soon, communication was necessary in order to write the first results down. He tried joking around a bit, but I didn't respond even though some of his anecdotes, I have to admit, were quite funny.

'I haven't thanked you yet,' Hitchens one evening interrupted me when I thumbed through a pile of notes.

Confused I looked up at him. 'For what?'

'In helping me get that potion right.' When he noticed my still-confused look, he elaborated, 'You know, the Forgetfulness Potion…'

How he came to that then, I wasn't interested in finding out. Working on the project was the more pressing matter. 'That's months ago, Hitchens… we're in second year now.'

'Call me Robert. And I know… But, nonetheless, thank you.' He was strange sometimes, and I told him that.

I got no answer.

--

**Beginning of February, 1865**

'_I beg your pardon? You want me to do what?' she exclaimed surprised._

_Professor Doherty smiled and patiently explained it again. 'Mr Hitchens here,' he gestured towards the third person in the room, 'has failed his last practical assignment. I have given him a second chance, and your detention will be spent helping him get the Forgetfulness Potion right.'_

_Isla raised her eyebrows speculatively and glanced at the Hufflepuff. 'That's it? Nothing more?'_

'_Nothing else.'_

'_Fine,' she grumpily agreed, 'it could be worse. But we're going to do it my way.' The last she had snapped at Robert, who backed up a bit but shrugged his shoulders._

_Half an hour later the water in the cauldron boiled, and both children were cutting the ingredients – or, rather, he was cutting the ingredients and she gave the orders, only occasionally taking a shrivelled fig to keep her fingers busy. Silence blanketed their work, only disturbed by the bubbling of happily boiling water and the sound of the knife meeting the cutting board._

'_I was wondering,' Robert spoke, tentatively breaking the silence. Isla gave no signs to hush him, so he continued, 'Why do you hate me?'_

_She stopped peeling the fig and threw him a long, strange look. 'I don't hate you.'_

_Robert carefully read the potion's instructions, then added the ginger root. 'Then explain why you didn't shake my hand when we met in the Entrance Hall,' he said, not daring to look at her._

_Isla owed him an answer._

_Ten more minutes went by, after which the potion's ingredients had all been added. Now they had to let it simmer for twenty minutes; time enough to talk, from Robert's point of view._

'_You know, when I first encountered witches and wizards, I was blown away,' he told her while he cleaned up the no longer needed ingredients and instruments. 'I had thought it was really fantastic what had happened to me; I felt privileged. But then I witnessed how pure-bloods – the kind you belong to – treat Muggle-borns, people like me. Are we not equals because we can do magic? Doesn't this make every witch and wizard the same?_

'_And another thing I don't understand… how come people bow to each other? Either you're a human, or you're not. If we're all humans and equal, then we shouldn't have to bow or kneel before anyone. Don't you think?'_

_She still kept quiet, not saying anything. But he could see that she had listened, her thoughtful gaze drawn to the fire that burned beneath the cauldron. Robert felt that his words were sinking deeply into her mind – and heart._

'_You need friends,' he spoke anew, abruptly changing the topic._

'_What?' He had torn her out of her reveries and brought her attention towards him. Although she looked snappy, she had opened herself to hear him out._

'_Friends help you be happy.'_

'_I am happy,' she scoffed, folding her arms in front of her._

'_I don't think you are. You don't laugh. If you were happy, you'd be laughing.' He bent down to check the flames' heat. 'But you don't. You feel sad. But when you feel sad, you have to laugh in order to become happy again.'_

'_Laughing when you're sad to become happy? That's stupid.'_

'_It's not. Try it and you'll see. Promise me?'_

_This time, she returned his blue-eyed gaze, but again she didn't speak._

_She would have to owe him two answers._

--

'You seem to have befriended the Hufflepuff you're paired up with,' Savaric remarked out of the blue the next day on our way to Transfiguration. 'He looks like he's familiar with you. _Very_ familiar.'

'Don't be stupid. We're just working on our project, that's all.'

'Really?' he asked sarcastically. 'To me it seems that it's more than that.'

'Oh yeah? Like what?' I snapped back at Savaric.

'Can't say for sure. But he may be trying to poison you.'

I stopped at his words; he turned around to look at me. 'Poison me? Poison a _Black_?' I laughed a short, high-pitched laugh, then berated him. 'Who do you think I am?' I asked in a dangerous tone.

'You are a Black.'

'Exactly.' I stood on tiptoe to look him directly in the eye because he was nearly a head taller than I was. 'Then you should know that _no one will ever poison a Black_.'

He held his hands up defensively. 'Okay, I got it. Calm down already.' I resumed walking. He followed me. 'It was just my impression when I saw him talking to you. He seemed to know an awful lot about what life should be like.' His tone was dripping with sarcasm. It wasn't a mystery that Savaric didn't approve of what Robert thought, said… the way he lived.

I threw Savaric a testing side-glance, then quickened my steps to distance myself from him. He had the ability to unearth all sorts of secrets, and I would have preferred to keep mine. He needn't know that a lot of what Robert had said had begun a process within my mind that ultimately lead to the conclusion that Robert's theories weren't _just_ theories. That they were truth. Savaric wouldn't understand that.

Even I still fully didn't.

'You know you can't keep it bottled up inside you forever,' he said into my ear, and I quickly swivelled my head around. 'What are you keeping from me, Isla? And don't lie.' He had kept level with me, and like I had guessed, he had already noticed me hiding something from him.

'It's nothing.'

'Then there's no reason why I can't know it, too, no?' Sometimes his logic called for frustrated shouting, he always seemed so right about everything.

Being indecisive I prolonged his waiting time by not answering and in the meantime continued striding towards the next classroom. But Savaric caught me before I could enter.

'Just to clarify something here, Isla,' he silently whispered, his voice sounding threatening. 'I will not allow you to speak to me in a disrespectful tone; remember your oath. And no matter what you're hiding – I will find out. You're not going to play with me. Never. I will know it if you do. Always.'

--

**Beginning of February, 1865**

'"_Always" is such a definite word. No one can do as he promises when he says "always". It's proven that ninety percent of promises will eventually be broken.'_

_Isla and Robert had finished the potion and were now returning to their respective common rooms; they walked together a short distance because both their houses lay in the same general direction from the potions classroom in the dungeons. Robert had successfully concocted the Forgetfulness Potion, with the help of Isla, of course, ensuring him a passing mark._

_On their way through the corridor, they had passed two seventh years who were secretly meeting in a dark passage, an early encounter before Valentine's Day. The young adults had been whispering declarations of love to each other, ending with 'I will always love you.'_

_Which had prompted Robert to explain his opinion to Isla…_

'_I found it quite cute,' she offered in response while they walked on._

'_You're a girl, and girls like romantic stuff like that.'_

'_What's wrong with that?'_

'_Nothing. But you should be realistic, too. Love is good. But can you be sure that it will stay forever?'_

_They continued walking in silence, many thoughts and questions racing through Isla's mind. When they arrived at the fork where their ways would part she had gathered enough courage to ask him what had been troubling her most during the last several minutes._

'_What do you say when someone tells you that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen? That you are great, even fantastic – like the sunrays at dawn brightening your day?' _

'_At first I would say "Thank you." Then I would tell him that I'm not an object to be worshipped. Or you would say those things, anyway…'_ (see **note 1** further down)

'_But –'_

'_Don't get me wrong. Compliments and admiration are always good. But being compared to things or treated like one isn't what you want to hear. Girls and women want to hear unique compliments about themselves, men, too. It shows real affection when someone you love comes up with a compliment no one has ever used before.'_

_For the third time that evening Isla owed Robert another response._

--

'Stop doing that,' I ordered as soon as I met with Hitchens that evening in the library.

'Doing what?' he asked perplexed. He wasn't used to receiving a greeting from me for I've never given him one whenever we've had to meet to work on our project, but being snapped at without any preamble was new to him, at least from my side.

'Driving me crazy with your talk.'

'I don't –'

'Don't give me that,' I interrupted him mercilessly. 'You know very well what I mean. Stop doing it. We have other things to do than discuss the meaning of words.'

He shook his head and opened his mouth, saying, 'That's not what I do, Isla –' but I interrupted him again.

'That's _Black_ to you. And I remember you wanted to read this.' I threw him a heavy tome, which he would have to catch if he didn't want to risk getting reprimanded by the librarian. I used the diversion to hurry on and get out of his proximity.

--

From that evening on our time spent as a team went back to silence. We sat at one table but didn't say anything to each other, not even explaining or talking about what the other was supposed to do or write down on the parchment. I knew we would have to talk eventually if we wanted to get our assignment right, but I couldn't risk being drawn into his worldview any more than I already was. Savaric would catch on to that, and if he did, it would mean my end.

The next Saturday would have been a free one without Hitchens and me meeting, but due to the fact that it was only two weeks before we had to deliver our assignment, we went to the library, quite early, nonetheless. No one else except us and the librarian was there, and we had everything to our exposure.

Hitchens kept on poring over books and notes while I wrote down what we had gathered so far. We had agreed on the first day that I would be the one to write because his handwriting was sloppy. I had refused to let him write a single sentence. All I allowed him to do was write down his own name.

A sole piece of parchment fluttered onto the essay I wrote. I snorted in exasperation and read what Hitchens had written this time. Since we no longer spoke with each other, he had developed this kind of communication and would send me parchment notes like this to "talk" to me – not always limiting the topics to our assignment. This time he had.

_Am I allowed to draw your attention away to something very important I have found for our project?_ After I had deciphered his hieroglyphs I snorted a second time, then turned around in my seat and started looking for him.

After several moments I found him on top of a ladder in one of the nearest isles, a heavy looking book lying open in front of him; half of it was supported by the shelf, and the rest he held in only one of his hands. The ladder looked rickety and ready to collapse any second; I wouldn't have risked my neck climbing onto it.

'What do you have?' I asked after having gone over to him. As a precaution I stopped with several inches remaining between me and the ladder, in case it _should_ collapse.

'Would you mind if it's related to the Muggle world?' he asked before he started on the real topic, continuing to turn the pages of the book without looking at me.

'What is it?'

Carefully he marked the page, then stuck the book under his arm and climbed down the ladder. It swayed dangerously, and I quickly stepped back; luckily it didn't collapse, and Hitchens came over.

'Pity I didn't find this book earlier, it would have spared us a lot of time and work,' he mumbled, then spoke up, 'In here are summaries of the most important discoveries in Astronomy. It says that at the beginning of the sixteenth century a Muggle scientist and astronomer discovered that Earth circles the sun and not the other way round like the clergy has proclaimed it to do for centuries. He went by the name Caparncus…' he stumbled over the name and hesitated shortly, then continued dismissively, 'or something like that, whatever. This astronomer also said that the stars look like they're moving because of the rotation of our planet Earth.'

I blinked impatiently. 'The man's name was _Copernicus_,' I corrected him, speaking slowly and clearly. 'And yeah, I know… so far we've already been.'

This apparently surprised him because he looked taken aback. 'Have we really?'

My look should have killed him instantly. 'Hitchens, we've worked on this project for how long now? _You_ are the one that does the research. And _you_ should be able to remember the present state of affairs –'

'Yes, yes, sorry,' he quickly apologised, nervously fingering the book he still carried around.

'What else were you going to say?' I asked exasperated. Sometimes it was really difficult to handle him and his style of work.

'Er… oh, yes… Several decades after that C— … an Italian astronomer discovered that the light ribbon in the night sky, the Milky Way, consists of millions of stars.'

'What does this have to do with our topic?' I interrupted.

'I'm getting to it, just wait and listen. So, the Italian found out about the Milky Way consisting of stars while studying it through a telescope. Another astronomer, I haven't found his name yet, then theorised in 1785 that the Milky Way, in fact, is a disc.'

'A disc?' I incredulously asked.

'Yes, a disc consisting of millions of stars. Look here, I've found this picture.' He laid down the book, after I had hastily taken the half-written essay out of the way, and showed me a rough two-part sketch of something that looked like a deformed ellipse with a dark hole in its centre in one part and a rather long disc in the other one. In sloppy handwriting, that was similar to Hitchens', _Galaxy: Milky Way_ was written above it.

'Galaxy? What –?'

'It's old Greek and means "Milky Way". Clever, the Greeks, weren't they?' he rhetorically asked; but since he didn't expect an answer from me, he got none. 'Anyway…' he smiled shortly and bent over the sketch. 'This is the centre of the galaxy, _our_ galaxy.' He pointed to the dark hole in the middle of the ellipse. 'It's form is the one of a spiral, you can clearly see its arms.' He pointed those out. He waited several moments then looked at me questioningly. When I didn't say anything, he turned pages in the book until he found what he had been looking for and read aloud, '"Some astronomers, especially the ones before the eighteenth century, claimed our sun to be in the centre of our galaxy. But according to Fartomé, who had continued studying the subject after Galilei had met rejection and disapproval from the clergy, our solar system as described by Kop—"' he stumbled over the name again but brushed it away, saying, 'You know who I mean.' He cleared his throat and continued, '"Our solar system is not in the galaxy's centre but rather in one of the outer spiral arms." That should be somewhere here.' He flicked back to the picture and his finger drew along one of the galaxy's arms and stopped somewhere at the rim.

Then turning the page back to the text, he read on, '"Fartomé even went so far to claim that the galaxy swirls around its centre. He's still deep within his discover-and-prove-work, but the first results verify it to be true."' He turned back to the page with the picture and bent over it, loosely pointing here and there. 'The many points you see here in the sketch are only a few of the stars inhabiting the entire galaxy; they all move, swirling around the galaxy's centre. And so does our sun.' (_see __**note 2**__ further down_)

I needed some time to process this much information. 'But how can something like… this,' I motioned towards the two-part sketch, 'swirl? It looks so solid.'

'You have a point. But think about it: Out there is nothing, outside our galaxy there's only massive void. Something has to hold the galaxy in its spiral form. And if it would not swirl around itself, without the centrifugal forces holding it in the form it has, the entire galaxy would collapse into one single massive… eh…'

'Point?' I offered seeing him struggling to find the correct word.

'Not quite, but I think you understand where I want to go with this.'

'Yeah…' I straightened and began pacing up and down in front of the table. 'The stars are suns,' I mumbled, trying to piece together each piece of information to the final picture within my head, 'and each sun is the centre of a solar system, like our sun is. The suns move along the spiral arms of the Milky Way galaxy. To us it looks like the star-suns are moving.' Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hitchens nod in confirmation. 'And if you look at this aspect in the course of centuries, the stars within the constellations change their place in our visible night sky, deforming the constellations as the final result,' I concluded, stopping right in front of him.

'My point exactly.' He smiled proudly at me for my combinative talent, and I scowled back at him; his expression adjusted back to neutral in an instant. 'An example for more clarity,' he spoke after clearing his throat. 'People living in, let's say, maybe the fifth century had seen a differently formed star constellation of… uh…'

'Orion?' I suggested, sitting back down.

'Yes, for example. So, these people had seen another Orion than we do today. And in six hundred years the people will see another Orion than we do today.'

'It's really weird to imagine that, but excitingly so…'

'Yeah, although the change is really quite small, even in the course of hundreds of years. Anyone looking up without having a clue what he's looking for won't notice the difference – provided he can live for centuries…'

If what we had discovered was what we had been looking for the entire time, it would mean that…

I gestured towards the first written half of the essay with a dismal look on my face. 'Then what we have found so far is complete rubbish.'

He closed the book. 'I wouldn't put it that way. We can still use it.'

'How?'

'You know, we could start by describing how the topic has been seen in the past and how it's developed over the decades.'

'Which means I have to rewrite the entire essay?'

'More or less… yes.' He grinned innocently up at me from where he sat. Luckily for him the librarian ushered us out of her "holy halls" that moment for the lunch break, or I would have strangled Hitchens.

--

I wish I actually _had_ killed Hitchens, not only for his last remark but for finding what he had found, too. Yet this information was the sort we needed to complete our assignment. I was just angry that I had to write down all of it again – and that he had found it instead of me. At least he was gentleman enough to offer to rewrite the essay, but a simple piercing look from me made him fall silent. Even when my fingers developed blisters from all the writing, I would _never_ let him take the quill and put our information onto parchment with his messy scrawl!

The evening before the due date, I finished writing the essay. We had once again gone to the library and stayed there longer than usual. The castle's clock had already droned nine o'clock, and in half an hour it would be forbidden to walk around the corridors without a teacher. But when I rolled up the two rolls of parchment at five past nine, each one ten feet long, I felt happier than ever before.

A smile of triumph played around my lips.

'You look like the grinning cat,' Hitchens said quietly while he stacked our many notes.

'Like what?' I asked him, surprised, looking up from my activity.

'You've never heard of the grinning cat? Oh, you probably know it as "The Cheshire Cat".'

'The what? And since when do cats grin?' I asked in return to which he raised his eyebrows.

'You don't know?' When I shook my head, he explained, 'Well, first, you're right, cats don't grin. And second, the grinning cat is a character in a fairytale called "Alice in Wonderland". It's really called "The Cheshire Cat", but since it grins the entire time, I used to call it "the grinning cat" when I was little; I still call it that. My parents read the fairytale to me when I was little. A girl named Alice enters into a world where rabbits can speak, she gets shrunk, has to win against playing cards, and there's a cat that grins the entire time.'

'And you think I look like that _grinning_ cat?'

He shrugged his shoulders but watched me carefully. 'Yeah… I do.'

My grin widened even more and I grabbed my bag. 'I like cats.' Without waiting for his response I turned to leave, but before I vanished out of the library door I stopped and mouthed over my shoulder, 'Goodnight.'

A farewell greeting of mine was new to Robert, too.

--

It took an entire month until we got the marks for our projects. Professor Datum hadn't found Robert's and mine the best, but we got great marks nonetheless. At least, according to the professor, we had chosen the most innovative and interesting title, thanks to Robert.

I never thanked him personally, but I gave him the widest "grinning cat" smile I could manage when filing out of the classroom. He simply grinned back.

--

When I awoke early on Christmas that year, a single present caught my eye immediately. It was strangely wrapped, differing from the other presents I had received. I curiously opened it in the darkness of my room and out fell a heavy book; in the moon's light shining through my window I saw that it was entitled _Once upon a time…_

While thumbing through it I discovered that it was a book about Muggle fairytales. Within the first two pages lay a card, reading:

_Stella,  
The grinning cat waits on page 385. I hope we can stay friends. Merry Christmas,  
Solaris_

* * *

**Note 1:** The majority of the last two paragraphs is taken out of Stargate SG-1, Season 8, episode 162 "Sacrifices". I have bent the lend sentences a little bit for my purposes, though.

**Note 2:** Up until the theories and "discoveries" of Fartomé all is historically correct, and the astronomer discovering in 1785 that the Milky Way is in fact a disc was called Wilhelm Herschel. According to wikipedia.de, the theory with our solar system not being in the centre of our galaxy was discovered in 1919 by Harlow Shapley. But since my story plays in the middle of the nineteenth century I needed something earlier-dated. So – with the aid of my sister's innovative mind – I invented the wizard astronomer Fartomé to give him the triumph over the discovery of our galaxy swirling/moving. I hope I haven't driven you crazy with the technical terms… ;p I confess, I had quite a headache after reading/working through all the material before writing the chapter.

* * *

Another great thanks to my beta JadeSullivan. Without you reading through my scientific babble in this chapter, it would probably have been catastrophic.

I have then to apologise in advance for not updating so quickly anymore in future, but I need to get some distance from my story to keep the general overview and intentions of where I want to go with my story. I hope you stay tuned, nonetheless, to find out what's going to happen in oncoming chapters. I promise you won't be disappointed because I can say so far that it's going to get much more interesting than it is now. Thanks for reading and taking time to leave a comment.


	7. Chapter Seven: Surprises

Now, here goes chapter seven. Have fun reading. And, by the way, you don't want to miss the lovely banner made for this story, so make sure to check out my bio page.

* * *

– chapter seven –

**Surprises**

When Robert entered classroom number eight on Monday morning he received quite a surprise. He would, for the first time since he started Hogwarts, be having a class with students of his year from all Houses. Taking a swift look around, he counted seven Ravenclaws and five Gryffindors; among them sat his friend Helen Sullivan who waved and grinned when she noticed him looking at her. Beside him three more Hufflepuffs were going to study Arithmancy. And at the front of the classroom three more students were already seated: Slytherins. Two of them were boys, the third a girl with long, smooth black hair. He took a closer look and was surprised for the second time that day when he recognised her: it was Isla Black.

The two Slytherin boys shared a desk with each other while Isla sat on her own, right behind her housemates. Robert didn't have the courage to place himself next to her or even in the direct proximity of the green-wearing snake's heirs, but he chose a table close by, next to Helen. He mused that from where he sat he could – that is to say, if she wanted to as well – get in contact with Isla.

Robert's third surprise came an hour later, after the professor had dismissed them. While Robert had been talking to Helen and simultaneously stuffing his book and parchment into his bag, his quill had rolled off his desk. After bending down to pick it up and surfacing, he noticed a small parchment note on top of the desk.

_I never thought you to be a mathematics person._

--

Arithmancy was an interesting subject, and I had been looking forward to it for two years. I had always been good with logic and numbers, and when we had to decide which extra subjects we'd take from third year on, I made a thick cross next to Arithmancy with my quill. Ancient Runes was the other subject I chose. Divination had never been the kind of magic a Black practises, and Muggle Studies would never be a topic I'd discuss. Care of Magical Creatures might have been interesting, but father and Phin didn't recommend it.

I was going to have my third Arithmancy class this week, and it was the last class before the weekend. The professor had promised to delve into much more interesting material than we had already discussed after only three weeks of having had this class. I was happy.

Upon reaching my desk in the classroom, I discovered a little, folded piece of parchment on top of it. It was wrinkled all over, some edges already torn; it looked like someone had fingered it constantly, either out of insecurity or nervousness. Curiosity grew within me; after I had put down my bag, I hastily grabbed the note and opened it. There, in possibly the neatest handwriting a sloppy writer can produce, read:

_I'm always good at surprises, Stella, am I not?  
Solaris._

--

He was disappointed. Somehow he had hoped she would answer his little note but nothing happened. He saw her three times a week in Arithmancy, three more in Astronomy, as well as during meals in the Great Hall. But never did she try to open herself up to him. Rather, she kept close to her housemates. He looked at her, pleaded with his eyes – all for nothing.

This went on for three entire months.

Until he found another note on his desk in Arithmancy:

_Are you interested in joining the Arithmancy club?_

--

The club had been founded by Professor Smyth for all those that wanted to continue studying Arithmancy even after classes were over. Actually, it wasn't really studying; rather Professor Smyth gave us quizzes and exercises to train our brains, to keep us busy and to show us different ways to successfully approach a complex task. There wasn't enough class time to work on exercises like those, and so I loved going there. It meant a change from the usual stiff and strict classroom teaching.

The first months I was the only third year student in the club. All in all there were around fifteen students; the majority consisted of fifth and seventh years preparing for their examinations. But it was fun nonetheless. One day Professor Smyth asked if I was interested in bringing some other third year student with me into the club so I would have a partner to work with.

I said I would think about it.

Four weeks later, I decided to invite Hitchens, although I couldn't quite explain my decision to ask him, even to myself – it had happened out of momentary intuition, because from observing him secretly I could tell that he seemed as interested in the subject as I was, which surprised me a lot. From what I'd experienced of him in first and second year, especially, I would have categorised him to be more of a philosophical person. But to err is human – that's what Hitchens would probably say. So I gathered my courage and invited him. I never expected him to accept the invitation, but he did.

Working with him on complex tasks was difficult at first because I had to get used to him again, but as soon as we were familiar with each other's working style, we got along fine. We always solved the tasks correctly, the next time faster than previous; after only two months we usually "won" by solving the logical problems before the other students.

The last club meeting before the Christmas holidays had gone on longer than ever before. The task had been keeping us busy for three entire weeks, and Professor Smyth wasn't keen on letting us go without the solution. So it was already after nine o'clock p.m.; we would have to hurry if we didn't want to get caught out in the corridors after curfew.

Since both our common rooms lay in the castle's basement, we walked down together, still discussing the latest task. But when we reached the great marble staircase leading to the Entrance Hall, we had worn out the topic; silence accompanied our steps.

'I'm not sure how to react…' Robert suddenly said out of the blue.

Surprised at his words I returned the statement, 'To what?'

'You.'

His answer met me unprepared. 'Me?' Having no idea where this would lead, I stopped walking and looked questioningly at him.

He, too, stopped when he no longer noticed me at his side and turned around to return the gaze. His blue eyes caught my grey ones. 'Yes, you. I don't follow your schematics. One day you come forward and talk to me, the next moment you withdraw yourself, even for months sometimes. Is this what you call friendship?'

It took me a while to process his words, spoken with sincerity that burned my soul; but I couldn't take it right then. So I walked off abruptly leaving him to stand alone in the hall, answerless.

--

Robert sputtered and tipped over his glass of juice. Wide-eyed and entirely surprised, he stared at the owl that was carrying a little note of parchment in its beak. With shaking fingers he detached the owl's burden, and when the bird took off again, he opened the folded note and read:

_Solaris,  
I treat you the way I do because of who my family is, who _I_ am. It has nothing to do with you, believe me. You are a really nice person. I would like to be your friend very much, but you need to understand that it won't be easy, for either one of us. So choose wisely: my friendship, no matter what it will cost, or your safety.  
I'm sorry.  
Stella_

Although Robert had a good view of the Slytherin table, he didn't dare look over to meet her gaze. He knew she was watching; he felt her gaze burning in his heart. But something deep down inside him held him back.

Within the matter of only a few seconds he had chosen; he would not continue meeting her in the club's meetings. It was the best decision to make in this situation, for his own safety… and hers.

--

'What did you write him?'

'Huh?' I looked up from the essay I was currently working on and gazed across the table to Savaric. 'What should I have written?'

'That's what I want to know. What did you write him?' He quickly stood and grabbed his chair, turning it a quarter of a circle. He then sat down again, relaxing back against the chair's back, crossing his ankles and laying an arm comfortably on the table's smooth surface. His head was turned towards me; his eyes held a curious gleam.

I looked back down onto my sheet of parchment and concentrated on my Transfiguration essay again. Innocently I said, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'

At this point, Savaric would have usually lost his patience; he didn't like it whenever someone tried to take him for a ride. And I could live with his furious reactions, having already experienced that side of him since I first met him. But his behaviour then was completely new to me: simply staring, silent and unmoving. He waited.

After ten minutes the silence became irritating, and I looked up at him. He still stared at me, unblinking as I held his gaze. Figuring that he would stop this stupidity sooner or later, I returned to my Transfiguration homework. But when Savaric still didn't say anything after another twenty minutes, I became severely annoyed from his expressionless stare. Sighing deeply, I forcefully slammed my quill onto the table with my flat hand, then I looked up and glared back at him.

'What are you doing? Is this a new method of yours to try and make me hit the roof?'

'No,' he slowly answered, without diverting his eyes from mine. At least now I knew that his soul hadn't departed from his body. 'I'm merely waiting for you to answer my question.'

Sighing for a second time, this one filled with frustration, I responded, 'What question?' My tone clearly transmitted my anger.

But apparently Savaric didn't get it – or he didn't _want_ to get it. Calmly he responded, 'Half an hour ago – or to be exact, thirty-three minutes ago – I asked you a simple question: What did you write him?'

'Who?' I huffed.

'That Hufflepuff Mudblood,' he elaborated, unusually patient.

'When would I have written him something?'

'He received an owl yesterday morning and tipped over his juice from shock.'

I shook my head, my face morphing into a mimic that dismissed the subject, and said, 'That owl could have been from anybody.'

'It was from you,' Savaric stated tonelessly.

Leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms in front of my chest, I asked, 'What makes you believe this?' As soon as the words had left my mouth I could have slapped myself for letting my voice sound defensive.

He shrugged in a non-committal way. 'Mainly because you practically stabbed his worthless head with your intense stare…' His eyes caught mine and darkly warned, _Stop lying, I've seen you staring_.

_Argh… him and his over-attentiveness… How I hate it!_ my mind shouted, and all my inner alarm bells rang noisily. Nevertheless I asked, 'And?' I couldn't keep my mouth shut. _That was a mistake…_

Savaric got slowly up, walked stiffly around the table and glared darkly at me the entire time. Upon arriving next to me he bent down, grabbed my chair and turned it towards him, me still sitting on it; the chair's legs scraped loudly over the stony floor. Savaric leaned in closer, supporting his weight on the chair's seat that wasn't covered by my thighs. His face was so close to mine that it dominated my vision. 'I have warned you, Isla. _Stop. Lying. And stop. Being. Disrespectful._ Now tell me, what was in the note you sent him?' His tone was cold and the words were delivered in a whisper, but I got what Savaric wanted me to learn: he was much more dangerous to meddle with than my father. And from one look in his eyes I also learned that Savaric wouldn't hesitate to clobber me should my attitude not change.

I breathed deeply several times, then slowly, silently with hesitant pauses, told him everything about Robert and the previous months' happenings. Savaric listened intently, his eyes tightening menacingly when I mentioned how I invited Robert to the Arithmancy club. But when I revealed that Robert no longer met me there, he straightened himself up.

'You will no longer attend in this club either,' he growled, still standing in front of me.

'What?' I shouted, incredulous. 'You can't forbid me going!'

I never saw the slap coming. My head was thrown backwards with the force of the back of his hand against my mouth and crashed against the high chair's backrest; it hurt, both my head and my lips.

'If you want to find out what I can and can't do, go on, continue attending this club.' He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His fingers gripped my chin tightly, and my head was bent back very far; my neck cracked with every inch my chin was lifted. Soon my entire spine hurt, yet Savaric still raised my chin higher and higher. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and my hands moved up to grab Savaric's arm.

'Please let go,' I begged, panting from the pain, my voice whining, 'you're hurting me.'

'Am I?' he asked, smirking maliciously. 'Then this shall give you an idea of what I'm capable of doing – to you, if necessary.'

He let go of me a second later, which was a too sudden move that let my neck crack once more. My hands flew up to my neck and throat, massaging both. My breath was still hitched, and I looked warily up at him. Savaric returned my gaze unperturbed with a dark glare, then he turned and walked away, grabbing his possessions lying on the table in order to retire to his dorm. I watched him go, a strange feeling bubbling in my stomach; I tried to concentrate on that feeling to find its origin – and discovered something I had never thought possible.

I was afraid of Savaric.

Gulping down the tears I stood also, grabbed my half-finished essay and other possessions, then hurried into my own dorm. Carelessly I threw everything on top of my open trunk before hurling myself into my bed, attempting to get my thoughts in order. An idea formed in my mind while lying in the cool darkness for several moments. Smiling contently at my own brilliance, the lids sank over my tired eyes. Tomorrow before breakfast, I decided, I would write a letter to father.

--

I knew that father had got my letter and answered it when his eagle owl, Orion, landed neatly in front of my breakfast plate two days later, a roll of parchment tied to one of its legs. Orion stared indignantly at me with his dark amber eyes, very much resembling the look father would probably have sent me if I had asked my question in person. I gulped down the nagging feeling and reached over to detach father's answer, which turned out to be a more difficult task than it should have been.

Orion clicked his sharp beak once, in warning; then he pecked the back of my hand. 'Ouch!' I hissed and quickly tore my hand out of the bird's reach. The following beak's clatter sounded suspiciously like malicious laughter.

'Fine, I get it,' I snapped at the bird, 'father is angry.' Orion cocked his head and blinked several times. 'No, that's not it,' I feigned thinking, 'maybe he's furious?' A confirming 'hoo hoo' of Orion turned my insides to ice; by then I had a good idea of what to expect from father's letter. But at first I had to get if from this stupid bird!

'Would you please be so kind and let me detach father's letter?' I politely asked. When the eagle owl still didn't lift its leg, the beak clattering dangerously again, I added, 'Or do you want me to pluck you like a chicken made ready for cooking?' Orion didn't need to know that I would ever harm him, because I loved animals, owls of all kinds, in particular, and father's wrath would be terrible if ever he learned I harmed his owl.

For the fourth time, the beak clattered angrily. Orion pecked my hand again, but he also lifted his leg. Hissing a second 'Ouch!' at the pain, I quickly grabbed the parchment and then tore my hand out of Orion's beak's harming range.

'Stupid bird,' I mumbled and shook my hand.

Orion had heard my last statement and when taking off hit my head with his long, heavy wings, similar to father's reprimanding slaps I often received. I threw the bird a dark look, but Orion had already flown away.

'I see you've found a new friend,' a male voice said sarcastically, and upon looking up, I saw Savaric sitting across from me. 'And if you want some very good advice: You probably shouldn't threaten such a proud owl, it could be offended.'

'Oh ha ha, very funny,' I scoffed into his widely smirking face. Sending Savaric a death wish with my eyes, I unrolled the parchment. Father's neat writing gave no signs of what the content was about or the emotions with which he had written it.

_Isla,  
If I may remind you of your education: When have I ever taught you to contradict a superior? Do I really have to tell you that, __**again**__, in a letter?  
Read carefully, I won't answer such a question of yours ever again.  
Yes, Savaric has authority over you. Remember your betrothal ceremony and the oaths you have vowed, remember the feeling you experienced due to the magic sealing with each wrapped layer of ribbon. There is your answer. You have promised to be his; therefore _his_ word is _your_ law.  
No, I do not have more authority over you than Savaric has. I have given up that right with your betrothal ceremony. Therefore I'm not in the position to tell him to let you attend the Arithmancy club. You have to talk to him on your own if attendance is your wish.  
However, knowing what great marks you received due to the extra-curricular school activity, I shall __**advise**__ Savaric to let you continue attending the club. But the final decision lies with him and is his alone. You will have to accept it, no matter if you like it or not.  
Remember, you are a Black. And Blacks behave according to their duties. Your duties are to be a respectful, behaving daughter and to become Savaric's obedient wife. Do not bring shame on your family.  
Perseus Black_

As I had thought, father's answer wasn't very pleasant; the tone of his sentences played into my imagination and I felt like he had scolded me in person. But nonetheless the sharp tone had somewhat lessened towards the letter's end, sounding more like slightly angered talk instead of furious lecturing. Yet the content didn't make me happy either. Father's letter had been my only chance to ignore Savaric's order and continue participating in the Arithmancy club.

The rustle of feathery wings in front of me brought my attention back to the table. Sitting at the same spot Orion had only moments ago was another owl, blinking up at me; the bird had one of its legs within my smashed potatoes and didn't seem to mind that tiny circumstance of discomfort. I didn't recognise the owl but knew the writing on the parchment, indicating me as the letter's addressee.

Quickly I lifted the tiny, tawny owl from my breakfast plate and detached the letter. The bird took off immediately after that; small crumbles of smashed potatoes rained on my fellow Slytherins, some of them wildly and loudly swearing after the poor little owl. I felt a bit of pity for the bird, then looked down to read my second letter of the morning.

_Isla,  
I have seen your letter briefly and have a very good idea of what your father will write. He is right, you know. But you should never forget that you are at first __**you**__. _That_ should be your most important duty.  
I love you,  
Mama_

* * *

Jade, thanks again for your wonderful word.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. I hope you can forgive me for the wait. Chapter eight is back with me, so stay tuned to find out how it will continue.


	8. Chapter Eight: Seeing Beyond

– chapter eight –

**Seeing Beyond**

Mother's letter shocked me. I stared at the little parchment for a good five minutes, rereading the few lines again and again; I noticed nothing around me. Only when I felt a fist gently massaging my forehead, I started and looked up. Savaric had stood, leaned over the table and 'knocked' me back into reality.

'Did someone die?' he asked as soon as he had sat again, leaning onto his forearms thus coming closer to scrutinise me. 'Someone I know?'

'What?' I asked surprised. 'Why would you think someone died?'

'Because you look worried.'

'Oh…' I mumbled and diverted my eyes back to my plate. 'Nothing happened, everyone's fine…'

'What did your father write you?'

'Huh?' I looked up again. 'How –?'

'It was his owl, and I've never seen anybody else besides him sending letters with Orion.'

'Er… Just… a letter keeping me up-to-date with… what's… going on at home…' I stuttered, but when I met his eyes my voice faded; he didn't believe me.

'_Do not lie_,' he scolded, emphasising every word; his finger waggled warningly. His tone was deathly quiet and impatient. 'The second letter, the one you're _worrying_ over, from whom did this one come?'

'I…' but before I could tell him _anything_, he stood again, leaned over and grabbed both sheets of parchment.

'Oi!' I shouted and made to snatch my letters out of his hands, but his glare had me sitting down again. Instead I settled, watching him carefully; it turned out to be the right thing to do because this way I could tell what Savaric was thinking. At first his face was puzzled as he began reading mother's lines, but when he read the other letter, his face quickly dissolved into anger, his eyes tightening. I felt the wrath building inside him but didn't wait until it broke out; I hastily stood, grabbed my book bag and hurried out of the Great Hall. I could still hear him shouting my name.

I fled, running up the marble staircase and looking for an empty chamber to hide in. But Savaric was faster; I was breathing so rapidly that I didn't hear his oncoming footsteps. He grabbed my left arm, yanked me back and whirled me around. As soon as I faced him his free hand collided with my cheek in a forceful slap that knocked my head back. The slap echoed along the otherwise empty corridor.

I stood petrified in shock; tears trickled down my cheeks. With red swollen eyes I looked up at him and recoiled; the dark brown orbs held no understanding. He tightened his hold on my upper arm and dragged me into an empty classroom. Slamming the door shut with a loud _bang_, he pressed me against a wall. He leaned over me, both his hands propped against the wall on either side of my shoulders, supporting his weight. There was no chance to escape; I felt totally helpless and trembled terribly.

'Now, you will explain your parents' letters. And tell me the truth, Isla, or I promise I will personally see to it that you _never lie again_.'

--

Before going to bed that night I climbed up to the Owlery. I clutched the little letter I had written possessively and picked the first owl I saw. After tying the letter to the bird's leg, I threw it out of one of the windows. I watched the bird until it melted into the darkness, then slowly returned to my common room.

After telling Savaric everything that morning, a plan had formed in my mind. I had long written off the Arithmancy club; Savaric would never let me return there after I had tried to ignore his word. But he couldn't forbid me to ask mother what she had meant by her letter. Therefore, I had decided to write her back this evening.

How to address her had been the most difficult decision, but I settled on the one I finally wrote down; I had addressed her this way in my early childhood and only once in first year, but it had seemed the most fitting:

_Mama,  
Why did you send me your last letter? What did you mean when you said that I am at first me? Please explain.  
Isla_

I hesitated, debating whether or not to write down what I desperately wanted to. But in the end, I did it anyway:

_PS: I love you, too._

--

He lay in the darkness of his dormitory and gazed at the canopy above his head with his arms folded behind on the pillow. His three roommates were asleep, breathing deeply and regularly; Octavius Montague was even snoring. It wasn't for lack of exhaustion that he couldn't sleep, but his mind was busy. It replayed this evening's conversation with Atreus over and over again:

'_You know that Black won't be the submissive girl you want her to be when you force her into the corner.'_

_Startled Savaric looked up from his book. 'What do you mean?' he asked, his tone defensive._

_Atreus indifferently kept on writing his essay and elaboratingly stated, 'You want her to obey you, without question. But Black seems to be the kind of girl that needs freedom. Imprison her in a cage, and her temper will flare because she's someone who's going to fight to break free again.'_

'_That may be the case,' Savaric slowly said after several moments of tense silence, 'but letting her do as she pleases will only give her more stupid ideas.' He scrutinised his opponent carefully with tightened eyes. 'By the way, what gives you the idea that I would "force Isla into the corner"?'_

_The second youth quipped his quill into the ink, the glass of the bottle tinkling slightly, and responded without looking up, 'It was obvious during breakfast this morning that she wanted to get out of your reach as quickly as possible once you got hold of the letters she received – whatever they were. You really should be careful about how much you tell people with your face.' Atreus looked up. 'As a Black she knows how to read emotions, and your wrath today could have been seen by even the blindest of the blind.' Savaric was about to say something in return, but Atreus held up his hand and continued, 'Anyway, you need to find the middle way. Keep her close, but don't force her to do anything she doesn't want to. Let her run loose, but keep her in sight… like you're tied to her to by an invisible rope.'_

_Scoffing, Savaric asked, 'Easy to say. If you're so clever, then you can probably explain what I should do to get her to obey…'_

_He didn't receive an answer right away; Atreus scribbled furiously, the quill scratching on the parchment. When he dipped it into the ink bottle again, he responded, 'Be nice to her, give her compliments, do anything to wrap her round your little finger. But when she starts behaving too liberal again, draw her close, tug on the rope. In those sorts of situations you can maybe try to talk her into seeing reason; make her understand your decisions, maybe even ask for her opinion.'_

_Savaric sniggered incredulously, 'Ask for _her_ opinion? Then she'll _never_ listen.'_

_Atreus wrote one last sentence, then put the quill away and laid the essay to dry. He relaxed back in his chair and sought out eye contact with Savaric. 'I wouldn't be so sure of that. If you engage Black in a serious talk, then she'll feel supported, wanted, even needed. She'll think that you see her as your equal. Considering that, when you talk to her, you need to be calm, of course. Explain why you're acting a certain way. Explain why you see things the way you see them.'_

'_And that shall work?'_

_The other Slytherin nodded. 'My cousin practises what I told you about with his wife, a former Ravenclaw. It works, I promise. And even though Black isn't a Ravenclaw, she's very bright – intelligent enough to develop strange ideas. Just give it a try, and you'll see how submissive your girl will be in the end.'_

Savaric's thoughts wandered again, and he recalled the look Isla had given him when she had answered all his questions this morning. He cringed deep inside remembering the situation; he didn't want her to be afraid of him, he only wanted her respect.

_Maybe Searle has a point. It could at least be worth a shot_, Savaric reasoned, still staring at the canopy above.

He sighed and focused his thoughts on his betrothed again.

Isla had changed. In their childhood she had always been obedient and had done whatever he had told her to do. _'Just because you seemed to be her protector,'_ a tiny voice inside his head whispered; it sounded very much like one of Searle's calm know-it-all statements. Savaric huffed, but he had to agree with the voice. Since he and Isla had started Hogwarts, she had begun to grow away from him.

'_That's not correct,'_ the voice whispered again,_ 'her change started much earlier.'_

_Yeah_, Savaric remembered, a surfacing memory unfolding itself in front of his inner eye, _it must have been right after that day she started with her daydreaming…_

**July 1859**

_Savaric and Isla slowly walked along the street. She hopped a bit and hummed joyfully while he walked like he was supposed to walk: gracefully. He threw her a wary look from time to time. When she noticed him looking, she stopped her squirrelly behaviour and became the young lady she was supposed to be._

'_Savaric,' she suddenly said, stopping mid-step and pointing to something at her right, 'look! Isn't it beautiful?' Her grey eyes gleamed when she looked over at him. 'Want to go closer?'_

'_No, I don't care about a stupid flower at the roadside. Come on, you know how your father acts when we're too late.' He intended to continue walking, but her hand on his arm held him back._

'_But I haven't seen such a lilac before,' she argued. 'Have you? Please just let me look at it for one minute.'_

_He sighed in exasperation, then grabbed her to – if necessary – drag her home. 'Isla, come on, we're expected.'_

'_Just one second,' she whiningly begged. _

'_You already looked at it, even longer than just a second.' And although she shot the flower a sad look and winked it a brief goodbye, she obeyed and followed his steps that were rather hurried now due to the late hour. Both children quickly paced down the street._

'_Look at the sky, Papa!' a child called out from somewhere near. Savaric and Isla arrived at a crossroad and saw a girl pointing up. 'What does this cloud look like, Papa?' she asked with wide and beaming eyes._

_The man laughed at the excited question of his daughter but looked up nonetheless. 'Oh, I… I would say it's a… er, a sheep,' he said, squinting his eyes against the day's light._

_Isla looked up as well as she walked, her eyes shining with joy, but she had slowed down, eventually stopping completely. Savaric continued on but stopped, too, when he noticed her absence. He turned around to look for her and noticed that she had gone over to the two Muggles. 'Isla!' he called impatiently, but she had not heard him._

'_Excuse me, Sir, but I don't think this is a sheep,' she spoke to the unknown man, who looked at her questioningly. 'I think it's a cat.'_

'_A cat?' the man asked in surprise while his daughter giggled, 'No, that's a dog.'_

'_No way,' Isla defended herself, looked at the girl and then back up into the sky. 'That's a cat,' she exclaimed fully convinced._

'_Can't be. There, it has a long tail.' The girl pointed it out._

'_Cats have long tails.'_

'_Theirs are more bushy, the dogs' ones are skinnier.'_

_The man interrupted the friendly argument between Isla and his daughter, 'Girls, why don't we just say it's a mix of cat and dog?'_

'_What?' both girls laughed simultaneously and eyed the man incredulously. 'Never!' Then they looked at each other and dissolved into laughter._

'_Jane,' the Muggle girl introduced herself, holding out her hand._

'_My name's Isla,' Isla responded and took the hand to shake it._

_At that moment Savaric appeared at Isla's side and grabbed her hand. 'Let go of her immediately,' he ordered without clarifying to which girl he had spoken, then turned around and dragged Isla with him. The young witch was too astounded to resist him at first, but as soon as both children had turned into the street leading towards Isla's family's house, she tugged to get her arm free. But her action only resulted in Savaric tightening his hold._

'_Savaric –' she began, but he didn't stop until they stood outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. _

_He swivelled around quickly. '_Those_,' he pointed back to where they had come from, 'were Muggles. They are vile creatures. And they want to poison us.'_

_She looked at him with eyes that grew huge with fear, yet the emotion was mingled with a hint of disbelief. 'I-I don't understand,' she stuttered, completely taken by surprise. 'They didn't look poisonous.'_

'_That's how they _want_ to appear, harmless. But once you're in their grasp, they'll never let go of you again.'_

_She started shaking, tears slowly running down her cheeks. 'I'm sorry,' she whisper-hiccuped._

_Savaric was momentarily at a loss for words. Since his own sister never cried in front of him, he didn't know what to do. But when Isla still hadn't stopped crying minutes later, he let go of her hand and murmured, 'Hey… it's not that bad, you can wash your hand off and it'll be okay. But promise me to never go near Mudbloods again.' She nodded, still hiccuping, and together both children entered the house._

That had been the first time Isla had met Muggles.

_And that was when everything started to change_, Savaric thought with a sigh.

He remembered how Isla's behaviour had only slightly differed at first. She would look at the sky and try to decipher the clouds' forms. She would dream about fabulous worlds far away. She would also look at strangers with an expression as if she was trying to find out whether the Muggles' poison was hidden within their clothes or bodies. Sometimes she wouldn't believe what he had said about Muggles being vile, that they really would poison the wizards and witches if given the chance. Her eyes would betray her in those moments, and Savaric had always been able to read the thoughts in her eyes. But soon she had learned to keep her eyes expressionless, had learned to rid them of all emotions and thoughts playing in her mind, had learned how to wear the neutral facade every pure-blood wore. Only on a few occasions that facade would become transparent, allowing him to see what she felt and thought – and that only happened when her emotions were too strong… like when she had been afraid of him.

_I've grown used to her odd behaviour over the years; we spent so much time together. That must be the reason why I didn't notice it when she turned away and started walking down the wrong path_, the fourteen-year-old concluded. He sat up, staring into the darkness of the dorm. Determination suddenly surged through him. _I have to make up for my mistakes from the past. Isla, I promise to bring you back; you're too valuable to go astray._

With that thought and promise in mind, Savaric lay back down and finally fell asleep.

--

**May 1867**

_My dear child,_

_I apologise for not answering your letter earlier or talking with you about this when you were home for Christmas and Easter holidays. But what I am going to write is not for your father's eyes to see or ears to hear. You therefore must _never_ tell anybody of this letter. He is currently abroad so there's no risk. And I didn't sent it to you by usual morning post, because there's a high chance anyone could interfere. I hope you're alone when you receive the owl._

_Now to answer your request for clearance:_

_Firstly, you need to understand that my family is pure, yes, but not very wealthy and without much influence. For three generations my forefathers have fought hard to hold the good reputation we Moons possess, but haven't had much luck. Add the circumstance that in these generations no daughters have been born, and you can imagine the misery my family was in. However, at least a daughter would have insured the Moons' connection to a well-respected, influential family. _

_Finally, when I was born, after half a century of only sons, my family celebrated that day. My father and grandfather then worked day and night for sixteen years to marry me into either the Greengrasses, Longbottoms or Blacks. It was a great success when Altair Black accepted me as the future wife of his only son Perseus._

_But it was no success for me._

_During my time at Hogwarts I had fallen in love with Richard Potter and would have so much liked to marry him. But back then the Potters were not as influential or rich as they are today. My family was to never know about Richard's and my love. He urged me to run away with him, but I knew that my duty to the family was much more important than Richard's promises of watching over me. Therefore, I gave up all my dreams of true love for the well-being of my entire family and married your father, as I was supposed to._

_It was hard, and he very trying. Your father is a noble man, you should never forget that, but he is first and foremost a Black: proud, powerful – and equipped with a fast-changing temperament; one moment he is considerate and caring, the next furious and dangerous. Your sister has inherited this Black trademark, as has your brother to a certain degree._

_But you, Isla, you have inherited my own character, with only the tiniest hint of the Black temperament. You are peaceful and calm, dreaming of a future that will bring the best to you. I have once dreamed, too, but had to wake up before my happy end had come. I do not want the same for you. Listen to what your heart tells you, not what your mind claims is right. Unfortunately, my support for you is limited, because I already walk on very thin ice. I believe your father suspects something, but as long as he can't prove anything, I'm relatively safe._

_Maybe you can change Savaric, teach him to settle his temperament. It is worth a try, because I believe that deep down he is as noble as your father. Yet you should never forget that he is an Orwell._

_Dreaming of a future that could be is very important, Isla, because dreams show us chances, opportunities. But to catch these moments, the right ones, we have to see them when they have arisen. We must be aware. I hope that you see your chance and grab it, because otherwise I believe you will be very disappointed in life._

_Finally I want to apologise for snapping at you in St. Mungo's, when you told me your betrothal with Savaric was too early. You were right, and I knew it. But your father stood outside the room, and I had to be careful. Carrying the facade of the pure-bloods is a burden, and you are supposed to carry it, too. But I hope you can side-step it, somehow, before it gets too heavy on your young shoulders._

_Isla, I love you so much. I pray to the spirits that you are able to choose the right path._

_Mama_

--

**June 18****th****, 1867**

We arrived quite early at Moorwide Manor; it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. The wedding ceremony of my cousin Galahad and Alexandra Greengrass was to take place after midday. But my uncle, mother's older brother, had asked us to be there early in order to discuss the last minute hassles he had with the sitting arrangements.

'You know the majority of the invited guests, Lyrae,' he had told her when mother and I had met him in Diagon Alley the previous week. 'You know who should sit with whom. We don't want to cause a scandal.'

Naturally, mother had agreed to help out, but she made it clear that she needed father's agreement first. 'I'll send you an owl with Perseus' answer,' she had said before ushering me along to the apothecary.

Father had indifferently agreed, and there we were.

Elle and my cousin Gwenhyfar, Galahad's sister, as well as the bride's younger sister Elizabeth would be the bridesmaids, whereas the bride's cousin Lycos, heir to the Greengrass Family, and I would be the ones carrying the rings and flowers respectively. My dress for this occasion was made of the finest pastel greenish silk, matching the colour of the bride's gown, of course.

As soon as we stepped into the entrance, a female house-elf greeted us with a low bow. 'My sirs,' she said, 'please you enter. My master is awaiting you. This way please.' Again the little creature bowed deeply, then scurried down the hall.

Uncle Hector sat in the lounge, his forehead wrinkled as his hands rumpled up his dark blond hair. In front of him on a small table next to the sofa lay several sheets of parchment; one was a drawing of how the tables were to be placed in the huge, lovely park that was part of Moorwide Manor's property.

'Oh thank Merlin, thanks for coming so early. You have no idea how relieved I am to see you all –'

Father held up a hand to stop Uncle Hector from saying anything more. It was no secret that father disliked Uncle Hector's babbling when he was under stress. I knew that mother had had this habit, too, early in my parents' marriage, but father had seen to it that she stopped babbling and started talking 'civilised' instead.

'Where is your wife?' father asked without a greeting.

'Amice is upstairs, checking on the tailor's process.'

Father's eyes tightened. 'You are way unprepared, Moon,' he suddenly lashed at Uncle Hector. 'This is the wedding of your son, your _heir_. I would have expected that you have everything ready at _least_ a month prior to the date.' Uncle Hector shared a look with mother, who silently shook her head, then looked down in defeat. Whenever a Black started raging, there was no way to stop him. 'Go, get your wife. Bring her down here. She and Lyrae will settle the seating arrangements.'

Father then turned to Phin who stood behind him, grinning in satisfaction from seeing Uncle Hector scolded. 'Find Galahad and bring him here immediately.' My brother nodded, then was gone.

'Elladora, you will make the tailor work faster. And dare him to ruin Isla's and your dresses.'

'You can count on me, father,' my sister answered sweetly, then went upstairs, cackling quietly as she walked away. The sound sent cold shivers down my spine.

'Isla,' father snapped at me, 'bring me the chief house-elf. I will give this creature a kick in the unmentionable if the food isn't ready yet.' Not waiting to see if he ordered anything else, I hurried off towards the kitchen.

--

Two hours before the ceremony started, the first guests arrived; among them were Savaric and his family. He looked fantastic in his festive robes and sent me a questioningly raised eyebrow when he saw me still wearing every day clothes. I quickly told him I would change any minute now, then led the Orwells over to the welcoming reception.

The progress on the wedding's preparations hadn't been as dismal as father probably would have liked it to have been. The food had been ready; the last roast was warming in the oven. The tailor had finished all dresses and robes days beforehand and had only been setting last accents on the bride's gown that morning. Uncle Hector's hassles with the seating arrangements turned out to be solved within two minutes, and everything was fit for the guests' arrival and the ceremony within an hour after our own arrival.

The wedding ceremony started punctually at twelve o'clock with a whiz of magic sent by the priest's wand. All chatter subsided. The bride came and the ceremony began. The oaths were similar to the ones Savaric and I had shared at my betrothal ceremony, and I felt my gaze wander over to my future husband more than once. He never returned the look, but I was sure he noticed every single gaze I shot him.

After the ceremony everyone mingled about, congratulating the newly wedded couple. Galahad beamed all over, but Alexandra only smiled dutifully at his side, the joy faked and never reaching her eyes. I didn't know if she would have liked to marry anyone else, but since this marriage was an arranged one, done by Uncle Hector and Mr Greengrass, both my cousin and Alexandra had had no say in the matter. It looked like the same situation my mother had found herself in when she had been Alexandra's age.

The food was served when all had sat down. I, of course, sat with Savaric and his parents (Savaric's sister Sybil sat with her betrothed, Cadmus Selwyn), making conversation. It was my task to keep the talk going, but I dutifully did so. Mrs Orwell supported me with new topics whenever I ran short; Mr Orwell only grunted his responses, neither approving nor rejecting, and Savaric was the actual one talking with us.

After the feast, the musicians started playing merry tunes, and Galahad and his wife – now my cousin – were the first on the dance floor. Everybody watched them and applauded afterwards; then several couples got up and floated over the dancing parquet, too. Mr Orwell stood and asked Mrs Orwell to join him. Savaric mirrored his actions and requested me to accompany him.

During the first waltz I saw Phin dancing with Ursula Flint, her long blonde hair neatly woven into a chignon. My brother's friend Alastar Silverfire stood at the rim of the dancing parquet, watching them. A young woman named Anabelle Hewitt stood next to him, eager to dance but waiting to be asked by Silverfire – women weren't supposed to ask a man to dance. Alastar got the hint after long moments of Anabelle throwing him exasperated looks but made it up with professional dancing. Anabelle beamed widely as she swirled around.

With the sixth dance I found Galahad and Alexandra close to Savaric and me. They seemed to be talking intensely in whispers; the bride looked more relaxed and happy now. But her demeanour was still stiff, and Galahad seemed to have difficulties performing the necessary steps with ease.

'Stop dreaming, Isla,' a voice at my ear tore me out of my observations. Turning my head I noticed Savaric scowling slightly, looking scornful.

'I'm not –' I began defending myself, but he interrupted me.

'I'd like to believe that you don't need _me_ to tell _you_ that you are a terrible liar.'

My eyes caught his and I didn't find anything funny. He had sincerely meant his statement. After five minutes I still owed him an answer.

'What have you been dreaming about?'

Since I hadn't been dreaming – _not this time_, a voice in my head proudly stated – I remained stubbornly silent. Savaric would have to learn that a Black will have her way sooner or later. And I could be _very_ patient if I wanted.

'Come on, tell me,' he urged. 'I'll know it eventually, and you know that, too.'

I hated it when he was right and regretfully sighed. 'I've was thinking about how beautiful the ceremony has been and what a wonderful dress the bride is wearing.' Having given him an answer that, at least to my ears, seemed satisfying, I looked over to my cousins again. 'I imagined myself in such a dress for my own wedding,' I added as an afterthought, not sure whether Savaric could hear it.

He had. 'You'll look more stunning than Greengrass does today.'

This statement made me look back at him, surprised. 'Really?'

'Of course.'

'So you think I'm beautiful?' I felt a light touch of rosé colouring my cheeks; I was flattered, although I knew that I looked much better than the Muggle Queen ever would.

'I do.'

'And you chose me as your future wife because I'm beautiful,' I concluded, feeling engulfed by happiness.

Savaric looked me up and down with one of his mysterious smiles and calculating gazes. Slowly he said, 'To be honest, I have _no_ idea how you came to that conclusion. Your looks were not the main reason, though. Do you really think I've only chosen you because of your beauty?'

'I…' That sobered me up in an instant. 'I don't know.'

'If you don't know, then guess.'

'Okay… Maybe because of the influence and power of my family?' I tried, remembering the reasons for which mother's husband had been chosen.

'That, too, but that's still not the main reason. If I wanted a favourable wedding only because of power and influence, I could have had _any_ pure-blood witch. Like Sahra Hale or Zulekha Lakshi for example.'

'Lakshi is Indian and five years your senior, and Hale is only eight years old.'

'What do origin and age differences matter when the gain is correct?' he grinned; the grin widened when he saw comprehension dawning in my grey eyes.

'You mean you would have –'

'I would have. But I didn't want that. As the heir to my family I can choose. And I chose you. Now guess why.'

His answer made me insecure of myself. 'Then maybe because we've known each other since we were little?'

His face took an exasperated expression and he curtly answered, 'No.' He then leaned closer until his lips brushed my right ear. Whispering he elaborated, 'Because you are the one with a secret. Your dreaming habit will one day be your downfall.'

'And –' I began, his breath and words sending shivers down my spine, really cold shivers.

'And I intend to not let that happen.'

'So my beauty –' I quietly spoke with a slightly high-pitched voice; I was afraid of his next words.

'– is a wonderful aspect but not as world-changingly important as you might like it to be.'

He suddenly changed directions and swirled me around, his head no longer close to mine. The quick move made my head spin. When we were dancing the slower steps again, directly facing each other once more, I found time to gulp.

His calculating brown eyes captured mine, and he whispered, 'You are mine, Isla, and nothing will change that…'

* * *

I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoyed chapter eight. Chapter nine will be up and running, too, in a short while.

A thank you goes as always to Jade, my excellent beta.

And as always I'd like to know your thoughts, comments, critique. Please leave me a review. Thanks.


	9. Chapter Nine: Sweet

Before letting you get started on reading I wanted to warn you that in this and the following chapter sexual situations are going to occur. If this is any offence to you, do not continue reading. Thanks.

* * *

– chapter nine –

**Sweet…**

He had his eyes on her. Every day. She had grown more beautiful each moment he saw her, whether in the Great Hall, the corridors or in class. And yet she had changed. He had only known her a short time, but now she was different. Her attitude towards him had cooled considerably, and she no longer talked to him. She did not even look at him. And whenever he saw her, she was in company of this Orwell.

When he had first met the two Slytherins, it had seemed as if both were just long-time friends, but over the past several months he noticed the changes; they got closer to each other. With the beginning of the second term in their third year, Orwell started changing, too, and Robert wasn't happy about that circumstance. The Slytherin had begun offering to carry her stack of books or would lean down to whisper something in her ear; at first, she would look surprised, but then she'd start giggling, her cheeks colouring. Robert noticed Orwell was looking at her with something new shining in his eyes, and she returned his gazes with a gleam that made Robert's insides turn to ice.

He felt that he was losing her. And Robert saw no way to prevent it.

--

To wake up with a flower waiting on my bedside table was sweet. To find a card next to it with a romantic little poem written inside of it was even sweeter. But to come out of the girls' dorms into the common room and notice Savaric sitting there, obviously waiting for me, was the sweetest I have ever seen. He flashed me a wide, friendly smile and wished me a 'very good morning'.

I did not know why he had changed so suddenly, literally over night, but it was much more pleasant to live without the constant fear that he would lash out at me at any moment. I couldn't say for sure whether or not I liked this Savaric better than the one I knew in my childhood, but I definitely could say that I felt much more at ease with him around.

And after a while, I reasoned that my enjoying his attention wouldn't harm anybody.

--

He saw her flash a smile while walking by and thought that it couldn't have turned out better than it did. Atreus' suggestions of treating her better to earn her respect back worked, and Isla had noticed his new behaviour right away, something he'd never thought possible. He thought very highly of her because of it. She had somehow changed as well; she no longer gazed off into unknown worlds every so often; instead, she paid more attention to what happened around her. Her constant dreamer's flair had diminished considerably.

Savaric felt something flutter in his stomach and concentrated on this feeling, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Dismissing it, he went back to his homework lying in front of him.

--

Robert stood in front of the shop, looking after her. When he no longer could see her, he turned around and gazed through the shop's window. He wanted to present her with something for Christmas, but he had no idea what it should be, what would please her. He stared for several long moments, then sighed and sadly turned around to walk back up to the castle. Alone.

--

I had talked my parents into letting me stay at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays, because the Headmaster had organised a Yule Ball. It wasn't such a big event as the parties I was used to attend but wonderful still. Savaric stayed, too, and we enjoyed a pleasant evening with each other. He asked me for several dances, and since I loved dancing, I complied with eagerness.

All my roommates had gone home, and I was the only fourth year Slytherin witch remaining behind. Savaric had company, though, because Atreus and two other boys of the second fourth year boy's dorm celebrated Christmas at Hogwarts, too.

When I awoke on the twenty-fifth, alone, I smiled widely at the pile of presents at the foot of my bed. My parents had given me a wonderful dress of turquoise-lilac silk. I tried it on immediately; it fit perfectly. Intending to wear it for the rest of the day, I sat back down on my bed and opened my other presents. Phin had sent me a book about the newest Arithmancy formulas, Elle a new set of wizard's chess. But I was disappointed that Savaric hadn't got me anything. There had been no present from him at all.

--

Savaric nervously paced up and down in front of the door. Everyone had gone up for breakfast already; it was only him and her. But she hadn't come out yet. He fingered the letter he held in his hand and asked himself for the thousandth time if what he was about to do was the right thing. But then she came out, ridding him of all words for a moment when he saw what she was wearing.

'You… wow,' he gasped when she saw him and came over. 'You look absolutely stunning.' Savaric looked her up and down, taking in her appearance.

'Thank you,' she responded, her cheeks turning rosé; that happened a lot lately, Savaric noticed. Isla had never been flattered when someone complimented her on her beauty when she had been younger.

The fluttering reappeared in his stomach and he gulped. But like before it disappeared when he tried to concentrate on it.

'What are you holding?' she asked, tearing him out of his thoughts and pointing to the parchment he still held in his hands.

'Oh, this… This is my Christmas present for you,' he said, giving it to her. 'I didn't send it with the usual Christmas post because I wanted to give it to you in person.'

She didn't say anything but slowly and with a curious gleam in her eyes unrolled the parchment. With nervous breaths Savaric waited until she had read his short letter; it blew him away when she suddenly started crying and threw herself at his chest.

'Thank you,' she sobbed, drenching his robes. His parchment present was already crumpled in her fist.

Smiling he lifted his arms and hugged her, drawing her closer to him. 'You are very welcome,' he whispered in her hair and kissed the top of her head.

He had done the right thing: he had given her his permission to continue visiting the Arithmancy club.

--

I was nervous. Today would be the first day that I would spend alone with Savaric since we had started Hogwarts. He had asked me for a date several weeks ago, and luckily another visit to the village was arranged on my birthday. I had asked Savaric to tell me his plans, but he refused, always with a mysterious smile on his face. I believe I only got impatient once and made to slap him on his cheek, but he had caught my wrist before gently turning my hand and kissing the top of it, murmuring a silent warning while holding my eyes with his. I admit that I was mesmerised with how he had been acting around me lately, since Christmas 1866 if I remember correctly, how he controlled his anger and had grown patient with me; it drew me closer to him.

A strange tickling feeling developed in my stomach and I paused with my morning toilette. The sensation of butterfly wings brushing me intensified the longer I concentrated on it. I looked up and met my counterpart in the mirror. My eyes gleamed, and my reflection smiled shyly back at me.

Had I fallen in love with Savaric?

Now I was even more nervous than before. What if I had? What if Savaric noticed it? Would he be angry? Would he like it? Would he even return the feeling? I didn't know and had no time to think more about it because one of my roommates was hammering against the bathroom door.

'Come on, Black!' Alemonia Rudolph shouted. 'There are five more girls that want to get ready!'

'I'm ready, just one more second!'

I threw myself a last probing look in the mirror and smiled widely. Today should be an interesting day, my fifteenth birthday…

--

Savaric surpassed my expectations that day. He did not once leave my side – except when I had to use the toilet. The sun shone exceptionally bright, the birds sang wonderfully. First, my betrothed and I spent an unforgettable morning in Hogsmeade; then we walked and talked amiably until we reached a tree. Under it everything had been readied for a picnic. Savaric told me he had organised a blanket and a basket with delicious little cakes and other sweets and had talked one of the Hogwarts' house-elves into bringing it to this place. While eating we enjoyed a fantastic view over the Scottish Highlands. In the far distance I saw a flock of sheep, and above us in the sky, eagles were flying elegantly. He had offered me the world at my feet, literally.

He even went so far as to feed me fresh strawberries while we joked and laughed.

I enjoyed the day very much and told him that I would really like to repeat the experience. He didn't say anything to that, but his eyes held a calculating gaze. He smiled briefly, then encircled my waist with the hand that wasn't carrying the picnic basket. I blinked, confused, then I felt his lips on mine. He kissed me. Too surprised to do anything, I let the moment pass and looked warily up at him when he stood straight again.

We didn't speak; for several long moments silence reigned between us, only disturbed by the birds' joyful melody. But when Savaric bent down again, slowly, I closed my eyes and returned the kiss.

Yes, I was _definitely_ in love with Savaric Orwell.

--

He felt… he didn't know what he felt. Anger at the Slytherin that held her close? Yes. Disappointment that she wasn't with him? Sure thing. But there was something else pulsing in him that tore at his heart as he watched from afar Orwell and Isla kissing. She suddenly smiled up at her housemate, emitting strong waves of purest happiness. Yet the silent observer wished she would be next to him instead of where she stood right then.

Robert closed his eyes and let the painful sensation wash over him entirely.

Dead certain, he was jealous.

--

**July 21****st****, 1868**

As quickly as possible – but also as silently as possible – I ran down the stairs, taking two at a time. Over the last four I jumped, landing on the floor with all the grace that I called my own. Only a single portrait, my grandfather, noticed my continued swift bypassing, hoarsely shouting, 'Silence, you mishap!' I ignored him and didn't stop until I had reached the basement kitchen.

Or rather, I _would_ not have stopped before arriving there. But due to unfortunates – which always happened only to me, no one else in my family had so much bad luck – I collided with father who had exited the library on the first floor at the same moment that I chose to land, after jumping over three more steps at one time. Because of father being taller and stronger than me, I was the one that bounced backwards with the force of impact. I landed painfully on my behind, my lower back hitting the sharp edge of one of the stairs.

Groaning I looked up and met father's stony, piercing gaze. But I also noticed another person in father's company, who turned out to be familiar, _very_ familiar: Savaric.

Father's next words were unnecessary because I already knew that I had made a big mistake. 'And to what do I owe a daughter running down the stairs like the devil in person is hunting her down?'

'I'm sorry, father,' I apologised, slowly standing, my back hurting worse than before. I didn't dare meet father's or Savaric's eyes. 'It will not happen again.'

'I would hope not, though I doubt your ability to keep your word.' I gulped, then father's right hand slapped me on my cheek; he had hit me unprepared. I suppressed the gasp that threatened to escape my lips, but the tears I couldn't stop. The entire time Savaric didn't say or do anything, but I felt his stare burning into my heart.

When I had staggered backwards from the force of father's slap, my back had cracked loudly. The sound of it echoed throughout the house. I swayed; darkness quickly narrowed my vision.

Father stepped closer and caught my chin in his hand. He forced me to look up at him. Calmly he stated, 'I hope the pain stays in your mind so that you will remember it the next time you choose to use the house as a playground.'

'Yes, father,' I sobbed and gulped, blinking away my tears. 'I'm sorry.'

The last I felt when father let go of my chin and darkness crashed over me all of a sudden were two arms catching my body as it fell forwards. Savaric's unique smell invaded my nose, and then there was nothing.

--

'I wonder what I shall do with you.'

He sighed audibly, and I opened my eyes. Savaric's back was turned towards me while he half-sat, half-leaned on the armrest of the sofa in the drawing room on which I lay. Carefully I lifted my head, but pain shot through my spine like a hot bolt of lightning. A hiss escaped my lips and I sank back immediately, drowning in unconsciousness again.

I couldn't have been out for too long, because when I opened my eyes again, Savaric still had his back turned towards me.

'I should probably warn you to stay right where you are if you don't want to break your backbone.' His words successfully hindered my attempt to sit up again.

'If you relax, I can mend your spine.'

At this, I nearly sat up straight, but the slightest movement made another wave of pain wash over me. Savaric was at my side within an instant and pressed me down into the cushions. Then he drew his wand and pointed it at my stomach. 'Hold still. It might hurt at first, but in the end you will be just as new.'

My breath came in pained gasps, but I asked, 'What are you going to do?'

He pointed to a book lying on the low lounge table, and I recognised it immediately; it was one of the books father possessed about Healing Charms. While I lay wondering where Savaric had got it from, he caught my gaze, holding it. 'Stop moving, breath as deep as possible.'

'The Bone Mend?' I anxiously asked; it was one of the most difficult charms.

'Correct. So now…'

I heard the warning in his tone and lay as relaxed as possible with my back hurting like hell. I had no time to wonder when or how Savaric had learned this charm as he had already started circling his wand three times before gently putting its tip down onto my stomach. Hot waves erupted from it and went over and into my body. With every wave swapping through my entire being, it got hotter and hotter, until I couldn't bear it anymore. My deep, forced breaths changed into hectic pants and I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming. The next wave nearly burned my insides, and I threw all my good intentions out the window.

Yet, when I was about to start screaming, an icy cold wave swept slowly through my bones, and I shivered. When the coldness finally dissolved, I relaxed into a weak heap with a sigh; all the pain had gone. Surprised I blinked up at Savaric, who was circling his wand three times over my stomach again, then sat up straight, barely sitting on the edge of the sofa. He didn't move his wand, however; instead he gracefully fingered it. He looked exhausted and was quite pale; the Bone Mend Cure required a lot of energy and willpower.

Carefully testing my mended backbone, I got up, supporting my weight with my elbows; not the slightest streak of pain erupted from where I had hit the stair's edge. I looked at Savaric questioningly.

'Your spine wasn't broken, thank Merlin, otherwise you would be dead by now. Rather, it was… cracked. I don't know how to explain it any other way, but I don't think it matters anymore.'

'Where did you learn it? It's very difficult.'

'Your father brought me the book after I laid you onto the sofa. He told me which page to open, and then he left. I had enough time to read through the instructions more than once, since you were out of it for a good twenty minutes.'

I smiled ruefully at him, then said, 'Thanks for healing me.'

'I wouldn't be able to marry you if you were dead. So I had no other choice.' He caught my eyes. 'Or was that your wish when stomping down the stairs at that neck-breaking speed of yours?'

'I didn't stomp!' I defended myself. 'And I don't want to die!'

'Good. But why did you stomp then?'

My response was silenced with one of his fingers on my lips. I gulped my angry retort down, then answered much more calmly, 'I was bringing good news.'

Savaric smiled, took my legs, and as he sat back on the sofa comfortably, put them onto his lap. 'Good news is always good.'

He hadn't asked what news I had. 'Aren't you curious?'

'What about?' he absently questioned, his fingers still playing with his wand.

'What I wanted to tell.'

'Why would I want to hear something as trivial as your news?' He stretched his long legs, crossing his feet.

His responses, along with his growing amused smile and faked uninterested behaviour sparked an idea within me. 'You know it already, don't you? You knew it even before I got my owl. And you've told my family.'

'Yes. Maybe. And no, only your father. But your mother and siblings have probably learned it from him by now.'

'Oh, you…' I swatted him on his left arm, 'you jerk.'

Savaric's smile turned into a predatory grin; he swiftly leaned over and caught my lips in a hot kiss, which I – after a moment – returned. His weight urged me to lie back down until he got his legs out from under mine and lay on top of me. His hands swiftly caught both of mine and pinned them on either side of my head.

When he broke the kiss, I was out of breath, my chest rising and falling with effort to get my breathing back to normal. Savaric smiled down at me, also panting, his hands still holding mine locked.

'You only came here to rob me my chance to bring good news to father?' I asked, still breathing heavily.

'No. I came here for two reasons.'

'Which are?'

He shot me his mysterious smile. 'You would really like to know it, right? What if I won't tell you?'

'Then I'll…' I paused, thinking.

'You'll what?' he asked when I still hadn't told him after five minutes what I planned doing to him.

'I'll think of something.'

'You do that. In the meantime let me inform you that I want something in return when I tell you what brought me here today.'

'What could I possibly give you?'

His lips nibbled at mine again and then wandered towards my neck. 'I can think of many possibilities,' he whispered, his breath hot on my ear. An anticipatory shiver ran down my recently mended spine and my heartbeat doubled while he looked down at me again. Every one of my nerves was alerted and on fire, and I noticed every detail much clearer than ever before. My eyes never left his face, his dark brown eyes, so full of emotions.

I felt frightened and surprised at the same time when his hands let go of mine, and he slowly but deliberately traced my arms with his fingertips. My breath hitched and he leaned down again, kissing me another time. His hands continued roaming along the side of my body, and I couldn't suppress a moan. He grinned against my lips and suddenly his tongue darted out and into my mouth. The kiss was deep and nothing like anything I have ever felt. Savaric transported one single feeling with all his actions: desire. For me.

When he sat up again, he got off of me and walked over to the window. Although I still saw his shadow in my vision, I didn't really see him. I lay on the sofa petrified, my entire body shaking; yet I couldn't tell if it shook because I was afraid what he was going to do with me or because of my own wanting. His taste still lingered in my mouth. I had to gulp several times to loosen the tight knot within my chest; it rose and fell heavily, my breath coming in short pants.

'I asked your father if he agreed to my present.'

Savaric's words took a very long time to reach my brains, and it was even longer before I registered what he meant.

'What?' I stupidly asked, still staring at the candelabra hanging from the ceiling. 'Present?'

He turned around and leaned against the windowsill. 'Yes, present. I wanted to give you one for making Slytherin Prefect.'

'Oh…'

'Your father wasn't enthusiastic about it, but he agreed. On several conditions.'

I slowly sat upright, not meeting his eyes; instead I stared at the pillow at my feet. 'That was the reason you came here this morning?'

'No. That was _one_ reason.'

'And the second one?'

He waggled his finger in a scolding manner. 'Not today, Isla. I will tell you in due time. But it won't be much longer until then, I promise.'

'Okay… And what kind of gift did you wish to present me with?'

Since Savaric remained silent for a while, I finally risked a glance over to him. He smiled, and I saw a colourful mix of emotions flickering in his dark brown orbs. I couldn't read every single one of them, but they spread warmth and friendliness. Slowly, never breaking eye contact with me, he bent down to a little carton that stood near his feet and opened its lid. Carefully he lunged into the carton with both hands and unearthed a fleecy, lightly ginger-red tabby with huge turquoise eyes, four fluffy paws, two straight triangular ears and a long bushy tail. A short 'mew' was all it took and I started crying.

Out of joy.

Savaric had got me the present I had always desired the most: a cat.

--

The cat was a he, had no name, and I would have to let him live with Savaric during the holidays since father forbade me to keep it in our house. But at school it would be mine entirely. I already planned on making it a cosy little sleeping edge on my bed in my dorm, and mentally wrote a list what I would need: blankets, a mouse of plush for him to play with whenever I sat in class…

After I had told my family about the letter and Prefect badge I had received this morning, father had lectured me a second time on not running in the house, especially not down the stairs. But after that he allowed me to accompany Savaric back to his manor. I wanted to see to it that my new little friend would get a good home. Not that I didn't trust Savaric with him; but it was _my_ cat and his well-being was my personal concern. Especially since it was still a baby cat.

In Orwell Manor it came to light that Savaric had acquired the cat some weeks ago but hadn't found a way to give it to me. When he had recently learned from one of his father's associates, who was in the School Department and knew about the newly named fifth year prefects, that I would receive one of the two Slytherin badges, he had waited until the owls with the letters and badges were sent. Then he had sought out my father to ask for his permission to give me the cat. It therefore came as no surprise to me that my new little pet already had a very cosy nest in Savaric's chamber. I sat the cat down into that nest and would have very much liked to crawl into it, too, to join my new friend.

And a friend it already was. Since Savaric had presented me the cat I had only let go of it during the trip through the Floo network, but as soon as we had arrived at Savaric's house, I had to carry it around again. The cat didn't mind and alternately massaged my arms with its front paws or licked my face with its rough little tongue. It mewed softly into my ears when I cradled it against my shoulders and grinned up at me with its cat grin when it sat on my lap. It had a sunny soul so it wasn't difficult to decide on a name.

'Solaris,' I breathed. I lay on my stomach in front of my pet's nest, the cat's whiskers opposite my nose. Its little paws played with the plush mouse I had found.

'What?' Savaric laughed from above and a far corner from where I lay.

'That's going to be his name,' I explained and reached out to softly stroke my pet. 'Solaris.'

The sound of steps came closer, and then Savaric sat down next to me. 'You know that it means sun.'

'I do and that is the reason why I've named him this.' I rolled onto my side to look up at Savaric. 'He looks so friendly like the sun in summer. And he has the sun's colours.'

He laughed and leaned against the wall. 'If that's your decision –'

'It is.'

Defensively he held up his hands. 'I wasn't finished with my sentence, Isla, so don't snap at me. I was going to say that if it is your decision to call him Solaris, then I'm okay with it. He's yours now, so it _is_ your decision.'

I didn't say anything for some time but then smiled and said, 'Thanks for that.' He simply smiled in return.

'You know, I don't mind you sleeping over, but I doubt your father would approve,' Savaric indifferently told me hours later.

Unhappy to leave my little pet even for the shortest while, I sat up and threw a look at the clock. It was already 8 p.m.! Father would be furious if I didn't return home immediately.

Sadness swept through me when I bent down to kiss Solaris goodbye, but then I hurriedly stood and ran out of Savaric's chambers, ignoring his shout to wait. He had to sprint to reach me, and I was already about to throw Floo powder into the fireplace in the Orwells' lounge when he came running into the room.

'Do you have to leave already, Isla?' Mrs Orwell asked, looking up from the book she was reading. 'Is it this late already?'

'I'm afraid so, Ma'am,' I answered and quickly curtseyed. The flames turned emerald and I stepped inside. 'Thank you for having me over today. Goodnight.' I shouted my destination and was whisked away.

--

Up until September first I spent nearly every day with Savaric and my cat at Orwell Manor. I learned that my betrothed was fond of cats, too, but still not as crazed over it as I was. He preferred owls, since they were at least a tiny bit useful. I defended Sol's honour (my cat's nickname) and counted off what useful abilities cats had; that resulted in a lengthy but friendly discussion that occupied Savaric and me for an entire afternoon.

Every evening I returned home dutifully, but every time I came out of the fireplace and saw father sitting opposite it, waiting for my arrival, I asked him if I couldn't stay over night with my cat and Savaric. Father always scowled and said no, but I tried nonetheless. Maybe I believed he would consent some day if I worked on him long enough with my question; it was more likely that his patience would vanish some time soon and I would get punished for not shutting up.

I didn't know back then that father had a very good reason for not letting me stay over night. But I was to learn very soon.

* * *

Yeah, chapter nine is online - that's the good news. But I have bad ones as well: I'm currently struggling with a minor writer's block. I hope you can forgive me having to wait a tiny little bit longer for chapter ten. I'm working on it, promised.

Jade, another huge thank you and a tight hug for your betaing. You sure rock.

And lastly, the ever present question: What do you think? Good? Bad? Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	10. Chapter Ten: Sixteen

It. Is. Finally. Done.

I want to say thank you to all my faithful readers who held out so long without another update. But this chapter was terrible. At first I got stuck with a writer's block, then Savaric wasn't a nice boy and did what he wanted. When I got around to edit the chapter, it only halfway went where I wanted it to go. I finished writing it but I wasn't anywhere near happy with the result. Something was missing, and I had no clue what it was.

My dear beta JadeSullivan was very good with the chapter, and I have to thank her a lot. But although she did a lot to bring the chapter where I wanted it to be it still wasn't what I wanted it to be.

So I looked for another beta to help me out, and mudbloodproud did a fantastic job, too.

I was halfway on deciding to submit the chapter like it was, but in the last minute I changed my mind and asked GringottsVault711 to help me out. She agreed, and found what was missing. I edited several paragraphs, and here it now is: chapter ten. Enjoy!

* * *

– chapter ten –

**… Sixteen**

**September 1****st****, 1868**

The first thing I noticed when stepping through the barrier was that, as usual, the platform was packed with students and parents alike; however, I had the feeling that more people were present than ever before. Many of the families looked around curiously, and this behaviour showed me that those people weren't familiar with magic. Elle noticed it, too; my sister huffed and sneered, then turned around abruptly and stalked over to the first train wagon. Savaric briefly jerked his head after my sister, ordering me to follow her. With a silent sigh and one last look over the bustling crowd, I hastened to comply. Savaric followed closely behind.

Elle had found us a still-empty compartment near the train's front, and while Savaric stowed our trunks into the rackets above the seats, I made myself comfortable with an Arithmancy book in my lap.

My sister sat down opposite me and said, 'Don't get too cosy; we're supposed to meet the new Heads in the Prefect carriage in a few minutes.'

I nodded but opened the book nonetheless, thinking that a little light reading until the scheduled meeting time wouldn't harm anybody.

The cushion on which I sat dipped, and I noticed Savaric sitting next to me. He reached over and grabbed my book. 'Put that away, will you? Term hasn't even started yet, and you're already putting your nose into a book. It's still holidays, Isla.' He threw the thick, five hundred page volume onto the empty seat next to him, out of my reach. I spared myself the effort of responding because I knew it would be fruitless. Instead I chose to pout with my back leaned against the wooden panel of the wall and my arms crossed in front of my chest. I threw him an angry glare which he simply ignored. Savaric folded his hands behind his head and made himself comfortable, closing his eyes and stretching his legs until his feet vanished underneath the opposite seat.

'I wonder who the Heads will be?' my sister queried to interrupt the tense silence within our compartment.

'Simon Grey from Gryffindor and Rhiannon O'Learan from Ravenclaw,' Savaric answered automatically although Elle hadn't directly addressed the question to either of us. 'Personally I think that O'Learan is made for the job. Grey has no potential.' He opened his eyes and looked at my sister. 'You would have made an even better Head Girl than that half-blood though.'

Elle eyed him suspiciously and opened her mouth to say something in return, but just then the compartment door slid open. All of our heads turned towards the newcomers. I turned to look out of the window, however, when I noticed that it was only Atreus Searle entering, dorm comrade of Savaric.

'M'ladies Black,' Atreus greeted Elle and me with a mock little bow before nodding towards Savaric and sitting down opposite my betrothed, looking back and forth between Elle and me. 'How was your summer?'

'Mine was good, as usual,' Savaric replied bored. He had his eyes closed and didn't even look at Atreus when speaking to him, but a mysterious smile played around his lips; he was probably remembering the time he had spent with me.

I smiled, too, and exchanged a brief look with my sister who stood, excusing herself; she wanted to find her friends and sit with them. I watched her leave. My eyes stayed fixed on the compartment door even after she had been gone for several minutes. No one spoke for a long time, and the silence was becoming awkward. When I finally was able to detach my eyes from the door and turn my head towards Atreus, I saw that he was looking at me expectantly.

'It has been excellent; I have no reason to complain,' I said quietly returning his stare. 'And yours?'

He scrutinised me with a haughty demeanour which, outwardly, I took unperturbed, yet it made me go cold on the inside; his eyes held a peculiar gleam that I had never seen before; it was slightly unsettling. He leaned back and looked me up and down predatorily. Slowly, he answered, 'As relaxing as any other holiday.'

'I see…' I vaguely replied and made to look away, but I somehow felt it impossible to simply turn my head another direction. It was as if I had been petrified without knowing it; yet I still had control over my eyes. Taking a closer look at Atreus, I noticed his hand hidden in his pocket – where he probably had his wand stored.

But I wasn't the only one who noticed this.

Savaric growled audibly next to me and lunged into his own pocket. With a swift flick of his wand in my direction, my body relaxed again and I could finally look away from Atreus' eyes. Savaric, however, shot a non-verbal jinx in his roommate's direction. 'Stop looking at my girl or you'll wish you'd never been born,' he added, his voice low and threatening.

Savaric's words eased the coldness inside me, but the feeling was replaced by an irritated heat over the possessiveness in his tone; I didn't like it. Yes, I _was_ his, and he had some control over me, but still…

My thoughts were interrupted when the train gave a violent jump that made the trunks rattle in the rackets. Slowly, it gathered speed until the houses began flying past the windows. I was staring in fascination at a house painted a shocking orange when I felt Savaric grab my hand. He pulled me up, and together we left the compartment.

Once in the corridor, Savaric gathered speed as well and quickly marched down the train's length. I stumbled after him, my hand still in his, and asked if he couldn't slow down, at least a little. He didn't seem to hear me. Or if he did, he simply ignored my request.

We arrived outside the Prefect Compartment a short while later, but before Savaric could open the door, I asked, 'What did Atreus want, looking at me like that? And why did he hex me?'

Savaric let go of the door's handle and turned around; he grabbed my shoulders, shaking me sternly. 'Stay away from Searle, do you understand?' Since his shaking was becoming more violent by the second, I could only try to nod.

After a while, my betrothed let go of me, but his eyes still held mine. I couldn't guess what was going on inside Savaric's head, but I could have sworn it was nothing good. He slowly opened his mouth, as if deciding whether or not to tell me whatever he wanted to say, but the words never came. Instead, a new voice spoke up:

'Excuse me. Do you intend to block the way any longer?'

I tore my eyes away from the familiar dark brown ones in front of me and turned around to see two Hufflepuffs. I vaguely recognised their faces; they were fifth years like Savaric and me, the Prefect Badge shining on their school robes indicating so.

'Sorry,' I said and stepped aside to let both pass.

The boy opened the compartment door and let the girl step inside; all the while he looked at me, his expression a mixture of curiosity and recognition. But he didn't say anything and hurried to follow his housemate; luckily so because in that moment Savaric stepped in his direction, probably to show that no one beside Savaric himself was allowed to look at me. The timed arrival of the Head Boy, however, ensured that nothing out of order happened, and we were ushered inside.

--

The meeting itself was rather short. We were introduced to each other and then got our patrolling plan and the first prefect meeting dates. When Savaric started discussing with the Heads that the meeting schedule didn't co-ordinate with his Quidditch training sessions, I used that opportunity to survey the assembly of other prefects.

The Hufflepuff boy from before had introduced himself as Ranulf Able; I remembered him being the boy who was Sorted before me. He was even taller than back in first year; his wavy brown hair had grown rather long and hung uncombed, but handsomely so, and his dark blue eyes were smiling. He looked like a good-natured youth that I could befriend easily, and the sight of him reminded me of another Hufflepuff with blue eyes and an outgoing character. For a short moment, I wondered what had become of him.

But right then Savaric had finished his discussion, and we went back to our compartment. The rest of the journey was spent in tense silence; Savaric and Atreus stared at each other the entire time, both constantly fingering their wands. I wished I could have stood and left, but one look into Savaric's dangerously tightened brown orbs told me to not move an inch. Sighing I admitted defeat and went back to my reading instead, blocking out everything around me.

--

Over the next few months, things didn't improve; if possible, they got even more complicated.

The first thing I noticed was that Savaric had begun acting kind of stiffly around me and I couldn't put my finger on it; after all it could have been just a hallucination on my part. But his eyes held a gleam I couldn't interpret, and it was strangely familiar. Only I couldn't remember where I'd seen that expression before. He also tended to look me over more often, as if he was appraising me. I was perplexed.

Then there was Atreus. He had begun looking at me with lust and hunger that made me fear what he was thinking – and intending. Savaric was holding him under control so far, but I dearly hoped I would never meet him alone one of these days.

The boys in general seemed to be acting more strangely than usual. Of course, they were still civilised and courteous, but to me it seemed as if they were struggling with inner demons. More than often they threw us girls long, wanting gazes, and some of my own dorm mates blushed when on the other end of such a look. I asked Elle what this unusual behaviour meant; she laughed and made fun of me until I threatened to hex her into next week if I didn't get a clear answer. She and I then went into an empty classroom, and she explained that the boys were growing up and experiencing changes in hormones. Naturally, the boys were seeking out possible partners for mating. She even went so far as to describe the entire physical process between men and women.

I was kind of… intrigued, I had to admit. Her explanation cleared some things up about Savaric for me, and I began to understand why he was acting so strange lately. It also explained what had happened between us last summer, when he had been over at our house to give me my cat. I blushed furiously upon the memory alone of where this could have led and my cheeks grew very warm. Luckily Elle didn't notice. She kept on talking.

Still, the process she described sounded entirely disgusting, and I made myself a mental note to stay a virgin until I at least was married; after all, it was dishonourable not to. Yet according to Elle this process was natural, and I should get used to the idea of a man deflowering me.

But she then warned me to be careful about how I acted around the boys from now on. A good-looking girl like me would be an easy target for first experiments.

When we returned to our common room, I sighed and wrote myself a mental note to stay as far away from the boys as possible.

--

The coming months brought homework and other school-centred activities and those alone put off my thoughts about the boys, at least for a little while. I often had more important things to watch out for, like prefect duties. There was a regular meeting every two weeks, and every second meeting the Headmaster was present as well. I had to patrol corridors after curfew with either Savaric or another one of my fellow prefects.

But when Savaric and I were the only ones patrolling, we mostly used the time to hold hands. Sometimes he would draw me near to kiss me. I didn't mind, and returned his kisses – often with a passion that surprised me myself. I got all warm on the inside during these moments and some strange feeling would creep up, threatening to take over my free will. I found myself wanting to just lock myself up with Savaric in an empty room and completely offer myself up to him there and then. But my education and Elle's warning would come back to my mind, preventing this unladylike behaviour that would result in something I would deeply regret one day.

One Tuesday evening I had to patrol the Charms' corridor with Ranulf Able. We talked little, but when we did, we discussed the latest assignments in Charms, what the OWLs would be like and other school stuff. I remember that the Hufflepuff had been the only one of my patrol partners that hadn't shown signs of fear or discomfort when he was around me; everyone else was too strained to talk, so our duty was spent mostly in silence. If it was due to me being a Slytherin or something else, I didn't know. But Able explained it quite well:

'You mustn't misunderstand them. For them being a Slytherin means that you're obsessed with pure-blood mania and other extreme feelings like that. They are prejudiced. Slytherins and Gryffindors have been enemies since the namesakes fell out, and although the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs might not hold any grudge against the other Houses, they tend to stick to their own.'

'But you aren't biased,' I wondered, stating my observation as a fact.

'I try not to be.' He looked at me, a friendly smile on his face. 'And you seem to be a very decent girl… and Slytherin.'

I thanked him – a bit mockingly I admit – and we finished up our patrol tour for the evening.

--

Halloween came and went, and then Christmas approached in huge steps. The holidays at home were relatively quiet and packed with homework, and I missed having Sol around. Savaric had gone to visit Rome with his family so my cat had to stay behind at Hogwarts since I still was not allowed to bring it home with me.

Easter came, and with it my sixteenth birthday neared. Usually turning sixteen was no big event to fuss over, but it apparently was for Savaric. His behaviour had changed – again. One moment he was utterly sweet, and the next he hurriedly excused himself and ran for it. I had no idea what got into him in these moments. Even when I thought about it more closely, I got no explainable results.

On the morning of my birthday Savaric and I were appointed to go to breakfast together. He had invited me to a private one in the kitchens. I waited for several minutes, but he never came. It was Atreus who then told me Savaric was already in the Great Hall, having decided to go alone rather than with me.

I couldn't believe it. After he had invited me he left without me? I felt anger and disappointment surge through me, and without another word I left the common room. Atreus, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, smiled maliciously, but I didn't think about it. I was too fixed on the mixed feelings that ran through my veins. I was in a bad mood.

Atreus followed me.

'You know, it isn't very gentlemanlike of him to invite and then drop you.'

I kept on going, not saying anything in return.

'I wouldn't have let you down. Orwell is known for dropping girls as he pleases.'

I stopped and turned to face Atreus. He was halfway hidden in the shadows of the dungeon hallway in which we stood, and he looked a bit creepy. Shaking my head to get rid of the thoughts, I said, 'What are you talking about, Searle?' Savaric isn't seeing anyone except me. We're betrothed.'

Another malicious smile crept onto his face. 'That's what you might think, Isla –'

'Black for you, if you please,' I interrupted him. 'And why should he lie to me?'

The look he shot me let me get icy on the inside. 'You haven't bedded him yet, have you? No, you haven't. Otherwise you'd know what I mean.'

'W-wh-what?' I asked in disbelief. 'What is this of your business?' I felt my cheeks burn with heat, but it did nothing to melt the cold knot that still resided in my stomach.

He lifted his hands and showed me the palms in an offer for peace. 'I'm sorry if I stepped over your privacy line, M'lady. But I felt it was my duty to show you that Orwell isn't the nice prince he acts. He's possessive, but he wants not only you. You haven't offered yourself to him, and so he looks for girls that are more than willing to take your place next to him.'

I remained silent and stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about – or why he really was telling me this.

'You should think about yourself first, Isla. _That_ is your prior duty to yourself.'

His words reminded me of mother's letter: _You are at first you_. I closed my eyes to regain control again, to get my thoughts back to normalcy. But at this moment I felt Atreus take my hand. He kissed its back, but when I tried to tear my hand out of his, he held tightly to it and with his second hand circled my waist, drawing me closer to him. Before I could stop him, he kissed me fully on the mouth.

I felt petrified and didn't fight against his invading tongue. Only when his salty taste registered in my brain did I bite down, thus ending the kiss. He didn't let go of me, though, and attempted to claim my mouth again.

This was when Savaric stepped in. He grabbed Atreus' shoulder and yanked him away from me. The sudden lurch made me stumble until I weakly sank against the wall, sliding down the cold stone until I came to sit on the floor. Shaking, I released the wallowed up tears and cried.

In the meantime, the two boys had engaged in a full-blown battle. Both had their wands out and were shooting spells and curses at each other, duelling to the fiercest. Every so often, a jinx would hit its aim and the person would stagger, but most of the curses either flew past or were redirected with Shield Charms; they then hit the walls instead.

Soft hands on my shoulders helped me up and out of harm's way. I didn't notice that it was Professor Myth until we arrived in her office. She calmly soothed me with reassuring words and placed me on a comfortable sofa. A cup of tea was pressed into my hand, and my Head of House told me that Professor Clayfield was currently taking control of the duel in the dungeon hallway.

--

Both boys had lost Slytherin a hundred points each and received two weeks' worth of detention. Atreus had been sent to the Hospital Wing due to serious injuries, and Savaric had a deep gash on his left cheek. He looked like a dangerous pirate, except that the hat and sailor's clothes were missing.

Savaric was angry. He cornered me after Herbology in the pumpkin patch of Professor Birch and ordered me to tell him why I hadn't fought back. When I told him I had been surprised by Atreus' actions and had been shocked for a moment, he lifted his hand as if to slap me, but he caught himself before his hand met my cheek. I had nonetheless closed my eyes in dreaded anticipation, yet when nothing happened I opened them again and met Savaric's searching gaze. I gulped, grabbed my bag more tightly and made a run for it. He didn't follow me, but I had a feeling that he wouldn't let the matter rest this easily.

My suspicion proved true, and the same evening he asked for a private word. I was sitting in front of the Slytherin common room fire with Sol comfortably curled up in my lap, but I consented to his request the moment I looked into his dark eyes. Lifting my cat and holding it to my chest, I followed Savaric into his dorm. It was empty, and he asked me to sit down.

For the next ten minutes Savaric ranted about my weak defence against Atreus' kissing attack, but he didn't lash out. He simply paced up and down next to his bed on which I sat; I held Sol tightly against me, and the cat licked my cheek and softly purred into my ear as if it was trying to soothe me while I was asking Savaric why he had cancelled our private breakfast.

Savaric stopped rather abruptly with his ranting and pacing. 'I didn't cancel it. I was held up, and when I entered the common room, Pearce said he'd seen you leaving. I wondered why you should have cancelled our breakfast since it's your birthday, so I followed and saw you both together.'

'Atreus said you've dropped me like you do with other girls.'

He looked at me with an unreadable expression. 'I've never been with anyone else.'

'That's what I told him, but he said you're lying to me in this regard.'

Savaric grabbed a chair and positioned it opposite of me. His shoulders sagged tiredly, and he rubbed his face with his hands, sighing, 'God, I _hate_ Searle…'

Not knowing what else to say, I mumbled, 'I'm sorry.' I didn't dare meet his eyes.

'It's not your fault, Isla,' he replied, surprising me so much that I looked up. 'It was him who lied to both of us this morning to lure you away.' He smiled sadly. 'You know, I understand why he did what he did.'

Confused I furrowed my brow and asked, 'What do you mean?'

He looked me up and down again, his eyebrows raised speculatively; he seemed to want me to understand what he meant before he had to explain it. But since I didn't, he began slowly, 'Remember when we talked about your beauty at your cousin's wedding?' I nodded and he continued, 'You really are a beauty, Isla. The most beautiful witch I've ever seen.' I blushed upon his compliment and felt elated, but I sobered up a bit when he added, 'And that's why Searle acted as he did.'

'You mean he's… attracted to me?'

'Yes, but he only wants you in a physical way. I know for certain that he doesn't feel a thing for you. And since he knows that he'll never get you, he acted on pure lust rather than being a gentleman about it.'

The memory of the morning's events replayed itself in my mind, and suddenly I understood Atreus' hunger when he kissed me. It had been similar to the kind of hunger I always felt whenever I kissed Savaric. And speaking of which…

'I need to tell you something,' I began quietly and hugged Sol closer to me while I told him about all the feelings I had bottled up inside me for quite some time now.

When I had finished my confessions, Savaric remained silent for several long moments and looked at me in a strange, unreadable way. But then he told me something, too – the second reason he had come over the previous summer...

--

**July 21****st****, 1868**

_Breathing deep once more the youth stepped forward, quickly knocking against the library's door. When he got a positive response, he opened the door and entered into the room that was filled with several isles of shelves, every one of them lined with hundreds of books. Most of the volumes were well-used, their covers worn by the many hands that had held them over the years. The few that had not yet been read stood out; their covers were bright colourful stains in the otherwise dusty shelves._

'_Savaric, how nice of you to visit. Come in, please.' _

_Upon hearing the older man speak, the youth turned his attention away from the bookshelves and pivoted slightly to his left. There, in a burgundy-coloured armchair, sat his future father-in-law, relaxed against the soft cushion of the furniture with his legs crossed, and in his lap a thin book lay open. The man looked up curiously and caught Savaric's dark brown eyes with his own stormy grey ones._

'_Please, take a seat,' Mr Black offered, indicating the armchair opposite the one he occupied. Savaric politely thanked him and sat down as the older man asked, 'To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?'_

'_Sir,' Savaric began, making himself comfortable, 'I do not want to be disrespectful, but there's something I need to ask of you.' He got to the point immediately because he knew that Mr Black hated people that beat around the bush._

'_Of me?' Mr Black asked surprised. 'What could I give that your parents can't?'_

'_Permission in matters concerning your daughter, sir.'_

_His opposite raised an eyebrow questioningly but nodded for Savaric to continue._

'_Sir, there are actually two things I need your permission for.'_

_Mr Black shut the book and stood. Dropping the book on the little table next to his armchair, he went over to a cupboard and opened it; behind the opaque door was a decanter filled with dark red wine. The man took two glasses and filled them, then offered one to Savaric. 'What would those 'things' be?' Mr Black asked as he sat back down._

_Savaric smelled the bouquet and only nipped at the expensive wine. Holding the glass into the sunlight streaming into the library's windows he elaborated, 'The first is a gift I intend to present Isla with.'_

'_Savaric, you are always allowed to give her whatever you please.'_

'_Thank you, sir.' The youth put the glass back down, holding it over his lap while he made eye contact with the older man. 'But I thought in this case I should get your permission first. Allow me?' When Mr Black waved one hand in consent, Savaric put the glass onto the little table and called, 'Heela!'_

_With a loud _pop,_ a female house-elf appeared at the left side of the Savaric's armchair, holding a beige carton in her hands. Carefully the elf sat the carton onto the dark blue carpet and then bowed deeply. She disappeared with another noisy _pop_._

'_I want to present her with a pet,' Savaric said and plunged his hand into the carton, taking out a baby kitten, which mewed fearfully and shook with violent tremors._

_Mr Black's expression was unreadable. For several moments the silence in the library was as dense as the thickest morning mist of London's streets. When the older man finally spoke, his voice was firm. 'You do know that I do not think much of a cat as a pet for my youngest.' It wasn't a question but a statement, and Savaric knew it._

_Carefully he placed the little tabby back into its carton and responded, 'I could keep the cat with me during holidays. It will never set a single paw into your house after today.'_

_Eyeing the beige carton with his cool, tightened orbs, the older man remained silent for longer than before. His forehead became slightly wrinkled as he thought. 'Let me think about it,' he finally said, dismissing the topic for_ _the time being. He suddenly stood and went to refill his glass; Savaric turned down the offer for another._

'_Is there a reason for you would like to get Isla a pet?' Mr Black asked after a silent moment._

'_Yes, sir, there is. I know for certain that Isla has been made Prefect.'_

'_Has she?' The tone of the older man's words implied that he had had no doubt that his youngest child would follow in the footsteps of her older siblings._

'_She should have received her owl by now.'_

'_I see…' Mr Black walked over to the window and looked out, taking small sips of his wine now and then. 'And you do not know, by chance, who the second Slytherin Prefect would be?'_

'_As a matter of fact, I do, sir.' When the older man didn't say anything, Savaric continued, 'That would be me, sir.'_

_Slowly Mr Black turned around and looked at Savaric over the rim of his glass. His eyes held a calculating but content gleam in them, and Savaric felt secure to continue with his approach._

'_Sir, if you remember, there were two things I need your permission for.'_

'_You said so at the beginning,' Isla's father acknowledged the youth. 'What is the second reason for your visit?'_

'_Since Isla's twelfth birthday we've been engaged with each other. I plan on celebrating the marriage on my birthday, my nineteenth birthday to be exact.'_

_Taking a quick, mental count, Mr Black nodded and said, 'That would be around four months after you both graduate Hogwarts.'_

'_Correct, sir. I already have her hand by your word…' He needn't continue because the older man knew perfectly well that whenever Savaric wanted to undergo the marriage ceremony, he, as the father, had no right to contradict. His daughter was officially Savaric's possession._

_However, the youth was still not finished with expressing his requests. 'But I didn't come here to discuss the ceremony's date. I want to request your permission for something else.' _

_The smile on Savaric's lips was tiny and mysterious… but very calculating and it sent a strange shiver down the older man's back, something he had never experienced before. Sitting back down into the armchair to hide his momentary uncertainty, the older man asked, 'What do you have in mind?'_

_Savaric leaned back against his own armchair and folded his hands comfortably in his lap. He let several seconds pass before slowly elaborating into the anticipating silence, 'I want to have her as soon as she turns sixteen.'_

_Savaric could see Mr Black repeating his words silently. _Have her._ 'Why would you want do to something like that?' his future father-in-law asked curiously; his voice wavered so slightly that an unpractised ear wouldn't have heard the shakiness._

_But the youth never missed such fine distinctions. A wicked smile crept into his face._

'_Don't we all have needs?'_

--

'I can't believe you asked father that!' I exclaimed in an incredulous whisper, holding onto my cat as if my life depended on it. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't – but Sol's life definitely depended on me to stop squishing him so hard. But at that moment I didn't care what happened to my cat; I was too surprised by my betrothed's words. Two surprises within a single day – it was more than I could handle. 'What… what did he say?' I asked; my voice quavered slightly and tingling warmth swept through my body.

Savaric seemed to play with the idea of not telling me – I could read it in his eyes – but something must have urged him to answer my question because he said, 'He gave me permission for everything I requested. I gave you Sol, and he gave me the permission to have you.'

Sitting on the edge of Savaric's bed, my eyes slowly widening, I could only stare at him. My mind was racing, trying to find a reason that Savaric would lie to me. But then again, why _would_ he lie? I was already his future wife, so why shouldn't he have the right to have me when he wanted to, except maybe that it would cross my promise to myself of remaining a virgin?

'I –'

His expression became sad and he looked away. 'Just as I expected…' he mumbled. 'But don't worry. If you don't want to…' His voice was hesitant, as if he didn't want to wait any longer. 'I can wait.' His words were honourable, but I felt that he only said it to not force me.

'Savaric, it's just –'

He held up a hand, still not looking at me. 'There's no need to explain, Isla.' He sighed heavily and I could clearly see his disappointment. He continued in an even sadder tone, 'I get it, and I'll respect your wish –'

Standing abruptly, thus dislodging Sol who hissed angrily, I said, 'Just let me finish my sentence, will you?' With an uneasy expression Savaric finally looked up at me again and nodded slowly. 'All I wanted to say is that I'd like to… do it.' The last I merely whispered and blushed; I had to look away.

'What about your wish to stay untouched?'

I sank back onto his bed before meeting his eyes once more. 'We're engaged, Savaric. If it happens tonight or in two and a half years – I don't see the difference.'

A smile crept onto his face and I shyly smiled back at him. He slowly got up and would have come over to me, but a furious mew from the door diverted Savaric's steps into that direction first. With a relieved purr, the feline slipped out the door, and Savaric locked it. He then came back, stashing his wand on the night table next to his bed. He immediately leaned in and kissed me, forcing my mouth open with his lips and tongue. I replied to his order eagerly, but when his hands started to roam up my sides, I tensed; nonetheless a moan escaped my lips. 'Relax, I'll show you.' His touch was suddenly gone, and Savaric leaned in closer. He urged me to lie back onto his mattress, and I complied. He started unbuttoning my blouse, and I closed my eyes, anticipating the feel of skin against skin and in the same time fearing what would be happening. When he murmured into my ear to relax and trust him, I shut out all thoughts and was willing to just let it happen.

And it was an experience worth remembering.

* * *

And now – after the long battle with Savaric and Atreus – I need to hear your thoughts. Desperately. Please, dear faithful readers, tell me if you liked it or not. Otherwise I will never improve.

And this is the place where I once more want to my wonderfully brilliant betas for chapter ten: JadeSullivan, mudbloodproud and GringottsVault711. Thank you!


	11. Chapter Eleven: Halloween

I'm extremely sorry for the mega-long wait. But here now is chapter eleven.

* * *

– chapter eleven –

**Halloween**

He was late again. Robert hated it to be the last turning up, but somehow he never got anywhere on time. How he had got to classes mostly punctual the last five years he had no idea.

Running as fast as he could he turned into the last corridor and – of course, how could it otherwise be for _one_ single time – collided with somebody coming towards him. The person hissed in pain, then a _thud_ told him he or she had made contact with the hard floor, probably on his or her bum. Breathing hard, Robert bent over to help this person up, muttering apologies.

The other one didn't take his offered hand.

Wondering, Robert looked down to see who he had run into. It was a girl, her long black hair, which he knew was usually straight, straying in every possible direction, her school uniform crumpled. She didn't say anything, but her eyes pierced his with such intent – not hate, at least not among the most prominent emotions he saw – it was hard to look away. Robert could lose himself in her eye colour, a misty grey.

'Look, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking. But I'm quite in a hurry, so if you could –'

'That's the problem with you,' she interrupted him and stood, alone, dusting off her clothes. 'You're always late, Hitchens. And if you'd been in the last meeting on time, you would have known we rescheduled the time of today to half an hour earlier. Then you would've at least stormed into the room in the middle of the meeting. But no, you run into _me_ – _after_ it's already over.'

'I… What? Why did you reschedule?' He looked confused.

'Because.'

She turned to leave, to let him stand there alone, but he swivelled around and grabbed her wrist. 'Wait. That's not an answer.'

Another piercing look was shot in his direction, but this time it only contained purest loathing. She hated him and dared Robert to let go of her, otherwise she wouldn't guarantee for whatever might happen. But he wanted answers and therefore wouldn't let her go before he had them.

'Look, I –'

'Spare your spit,' Robert was interrupted again, this time by another voice, a male one. 'And let go of her, Mudblood, or I'll have to help.'

Robert heard the warning tone in the sentence; nevertheless he held onto her wrist a fraction too long, it seemed, for he suddenly felt the tip of a wand against his temple. He didn't know what curse or jinx the other would use, but knew that Savaric Orwell could get really fiery – not only literally meant. That was why he disconnected his hand from her wrist.

The wand vanished shortly after, hesitating a little. Robert saw Isla Black shooting Savaric a meaningful glance, then turning around the corner and out of sight. Now he was alone with the pure-blood. And he was afraid.

'You know, Mudblood –'

'My name's Robert Hitchens,' he spoke up in a brave manner he didn't really feel.

'– I won't be that nice the next time you corner _my_ girl. Understood?' Savaric's brown eyes shot him a look that, if eye contact could do that, was intended to kill Robert.

'Understood,' he mumbled to get rid of the Slytherin.

With a malicious sneer, the taller youth stepped away and followed his betrothed.

--

I couldn't concentrate. The figures in front of me moved around, trying to beat my opponent, but I didn't know what I was doing. It should therefore be no wonder that I lost, the second time in only ten minutes.

'I don't suppose it would do any good if we continue playing?'

Questioningly looking up, I saw Savaric sitting opposite me. I even had missed the fact that I had been playing against him.

'Probably not.'

'Care to fill me in?' He took the figures and packed them away before closing the chessboard.

'Actually… no.' I couldn't explain why I just said that, only that I felt inexplicably daring and not in the mood to discuss with Savaric things I had to think about.

An angry glittering in his eyes told me before his words that I would have to be careful. I knew this, but I just didn't seem to learn that Savaric could be very dangerous, for others as well as for me. Or, I might argue, I just didn't want to learn that lecture.

'Why is that? And since when do you not tell me everything that bothers you?'

I self-confidently looked him in the eye. 'Because I just want to be left alone right now. I need to think and having you talk to me is only interruptive.' Throwing all caution I had promised myself to exercise towards Savaric out of the window, I stood, turned to leave and said over my shoulder, 'And you don't need to threaten others only because they talk to me. I wouldn't be allowed to have a conversation with anyone this way, except you.'

The look on his face told me that I had gone too far and that he would have me pay for that cheek.

--

Robert had luckily met a fellow Hufflepuff who told him about the meeting's results. He knew that he would have to be punctual next time, otherwise the committee would throw him out, despite the fact that most ideas for the Halloween party had come from him. But since the Slytherins had such influence within the committee, he knew that Orwell would move heaven and earth to get rid of him. No matter if the party in the end would suffer without creative ideas.

A quick look at the nearest clock told him that it was already time for dinner. But Robert had no appetite. He decided to enjoy the last warming rays of sunlight and stepped out of the oak front doors. His steps led him to the water's edge; he removed his shoes and socks, then sat, letting his feet dangle in the cool water.

Pondering over that crazy afternoon, he never heard soft steps nearing to where he sat. But when he felt someone sit down on the old tree trunk next to him, he looked up, coming out of his reveries. It was her again, only she looked a bit… different. He knew why when he noticed her paleness accentuating her already porcelain cheeks.

'What happened?' he asked, worried.

She dismissed it with a wave of her pretty manicured hand and mumbled, 'None of your business. Keep it that way.'

'But –' Robert tried to interject, but she shot him a short look that let him fall silent immediately. He wondered if all those meaningful looks and gazes were a pure-blood thing.

'I'm not here to discuss. I wanted to ask you something.'

Perplexed he stuttered, 'Okay? Then ask.'

The girl breathed deeply several times, as if to gain courage, then looked straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. 'Tell me about your family, your life,' she demanded rather than asked. 'Where do you come from? What's it like to be a Mu— to be you?'

Of all possibilities he had never thought that she would want to know what she now had asked.

'Eh… I…' He was too stunned to speak properly. 'You know… I…' She shot him an unreadable look and he tried anew. 'I… see, Isla, I –'

'That would be Miss Black to you,' she said.

'Okay, _Miss Black_, why do you want to know about my life?'

'That's none of your business either.'

Her haughty demeanour was getting onto his nerves and he would have liked to reprimand her for it. But he knew what results that would have.

'So? You starting sometime?'

Not knowing why, he plunged into a detailed description of what his life was like and felt. He told her everything, not even stopping to dig into the fact that his younger sister was deadly ill – and that magic could be the only way to save her life.

--

Midnight had long been gone, but he still lay awake. The scene that evening at the lake's shore played itself over and over again in his memory. She hadn't shown any sign of laughter or emotion, but she had listened intently. And after he had finished she had gone, without a word of goodbye. She had simply walked away. It had been a… strange experience to say the least.

Robert turned over onto his stomach, intending to finally fall asleep, but again her face came into his mind and he once again noticed her paleness. Why had she been this ghostly white? What had happened to let her come to him? And what, in Merlin's name, had urged her to ask him about his family and life? He knew he wouldn't get an answer, not from her or anybody else for that matter. And wondering about it would definitely not help him get some sleep that night. So he rolled over onto his back and stared at the canopy above.

He couldn't get rid of her image.

Sighing with defeat, Robert got up and slipped out of the dormitory, his pillow tucked under his arm. He would nestle himself into one of the armchairs around the common room's fireplace, hoping that the small crackling fire could do what the darkness of his dorm hadn't – lull him into sleep.

--

Next morning came and Robert still sat, wide awake, in the cosy armchair, his eyes gazing off. It was in this state his housemate found him.

'Don't tell me you've been up the whole night.'

'I have, Ranulf,' he mumbled without taking his eyes off the mantelpiece.

The sixth year Hufflepuff Prefect sighed dramatically, 'I asked you not to tell me.' Exasperated he threw his arms over his head, only to let them fall back down afterwards.

'Sorry.'

'Is it a girl?' Ranulf sat into an armchair next to Robert's, stretching his legs away from him.

'The most beautiful and mysterious one I've ever seen.'

'Let me guess… eh…' He leaned his head onto his hand and closed his eyes, feigning thinking.

'Isla Black.'

'Ah…'

Silence crept between the two youths, the fire long fizzled out.

'That'll only bring you a lot of trouble with Orwell.'

'No need to remind me.'

'Only here to help my friends and comrades survive a lost war.'

Robert finally looked at him, his eyebrows raised suspiciously. 'Has anybody spiked your juice? You're utterly unhelpful today, Ranulf.'

The spoken to grinned. 'My intention.' That earned him a smack with Robert's pillow, which soon developed into a wrestling match with both of them laughing jollily.

--

Throughout the next two weeks Isla Black never gave a sign of recognising him in any way. During classes or the Arithmancy club she never spoke a word to him, not even looked in his direction, even when they worked on the same project or in the same team. That was what Robert did in her stead; he cast her lots of long looks, which earned him another two talks with Orwell – although, in both occasions, the Slytherin did the talking and Robert had to listen, given the fact that he had no other choice due to being pinned to the wall by Orwell's strong grip.

An improvement in her behaviour came after the next Halloween party committee's meeting.

Robert hadn't been thrown out and banned from the planning process because, for the first time in his life, he had managed to arrive earlier than just on time or only a few minutes too late. The other committee members had been happy to keep him, only several Slytherins were silently sulking; Robert could see it in their faces. But Orwell would never try anything threatening when dozens of witnesses were around – it could ruin his reputation.

Isla kept silent, as usual, and wrote the meeting's notes, only throwing him unreadable looks whenever he thought of another spectacular idea of how to make the upcoming Halloween party a worthwhile event for everybody. So far he had suggested making it a costume ball (inspired by the traditions of the children out of his neighbourhood), had organised offers from several musicians, had planned out the food and drink supplies as well as having introduced several interesting and funny games the students could be kept entertained with.

It happened when everybody had filed out of the door and Robert was the last. Or at least he thought he was. Over in her corner Isla still stood, watching him over with a strange, long look. It sent cold shivers down his spine and he couldn't move.

'I've done a bit of research,' she started to talk, without any reference to the thoughts racing through his mind. 'From what I learned it seems that Muggles are quite… decent.'

Robert noticed her fractional hesitation before saying 'decent'. But he didn't acknowledge it. _Why was she saying this?_

'I guess I should grant them at least a bit intelligence. They have invented some quite remarkable things. Without magic.'

He threw her a small smile, not knowing where her words were going to lead.

'I apologise.'

So far he had stared over her shoulder at the wall to not have to look at her but her last words brought him to make eye contact with her. 'For what?'

This time she threw him a small smile.

'For ever calling people of your birth a Mudblood.'

--

He rumbled up his hair, he felt so frustrated. And whatever he tried, it didn't work out. Sighing in resignation, he folded his arms upon the table and let his head sink onto them, his chin resting atop the thick book that lay open in front of him.

'I assume you could need a hand with that.'

Robert looked up without lifting his head. In front of him, across the table's surface, stood Isla. She wore her hair down and it beautifully cascaded down the left side of her face like a waterfall; her schoolbag hung draped over her right shoulder. Her misty-grey eyes held no emotion, and whatever she was thinking that moment – he couldn't read it.

Slowly lifting himself into an upright sitting position, he shrugged his shoulders in response, then motioned to the vacant chair to his left. She sat down and pulled the tome towards her to read the instructions Robert had pondered over.

Minutes ticked slowly by, the huge clock at the wall in the library noisily counting down the time. The sounds the other students made and their talking vanished into the background; it was only him and her, alone, sitting together at one table.

Feigning interest into the text of the book, reading it upside down, he observed her in secret. Her long, slender fingers slowly turned page after page, pulled another book towards her and opened it to uncover its mysterious content. It didn't look like those fingers were working, but rather moving in a fascinating, complex dance across the pages.

'Staring at my fingers will not help you write this essay, Hitchens,' her sharp tone penetrated his mind and he quickly looked up at her. Although Robert knew her eyes could hold a lot of emotions – or at least he _hoped _they could –, he found nothing of it there right now; her gaze was icy cold. He mouthed a quick apology and bent over his homework again.

Isla stared at the top of his head. He was so… different than her fellow Slytherins, but nonetheless a boy – or young man – with teenage hormones from time to time taking over the control over his body and mind. The Slytherin pure-bloods were raised to behave like gentlemen, not daring to touch a girl of their midst before wedding – even if it meant to personally suffer from chastity. The only exception from this rule she knew was Savaric, and this had only been because he had asked her father for permission to have her before their wedding.

Remembering her birthday several months back, warmth crawled into her cheeks, but she willed herself to not blush in front of a Hufflepuff. She quickly looked over to him to see if he had noticed anything, but for once he did what he was supposed to do. _He comes from another background, was raised differently_, she thought. And she didn't mind; she had to admit that she rather enjoyed having him around, talking with his uncomplicated self. It meant a change from the stiff and tense air waving through the Slytherin common room. And it allowed her to feel… free.

'Would you mind lending me your quill? I've broken my last one and need to buy a new one.'

'Of course.' She grabbed her bag and rummaged through its contents, unearthing one of her favourites quills. She eyed it fondly, but then reached over the table to hand it to him.

They worked mostly in silence, Isla only sometimes pointing out a mistake. She was really good in Potions and always received top marks, whereas Robert was becoming a lost case. He had been lucky to have been accepted into the NEWT class, but what Professor Doherty taught in sixth year was beyond his logic. His marks were one of the worst.

Usually Avice Greenwood, a fellow Hufflepuff, would help him out, being the only one beside him of Hufflepuff house having managed to get into the advanced Potions class. But since Avice lay in the Hospital Wing with a bad cold, he had to fend for himself.

'If you intend to stab that sheet of parchment with the quill, go on. Don't let me disturb you with that.'

Realising that he dotted his "i"s harder than necessary, he grinned apologetically and tried to do it a little bit softer. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Isla shaking her head and sighing in defeat. She mumbled something that suspiciously sounded like 'Boys!'

With pleasant and happy feelings flapping within his stomach, Robert finished writing his essay within an hour, afterwards handing it to Isla to read it over, not trusting his common sense to have kept to the assignment. But she had no negative comments to give, so he hoped he would, for once, receive a good mark for it.

Shooting a quick glance at the library clock, Isla stood, packing her things up. 'I have to leave. They'll surely miss me by now.' Robert didn't dare to ask but he had a good idea who she meant with "they".

She had already taken five steps when he remembered that he was still holding her borrowed quill. 'Wait! You forgot this.'

Isla stopped and looked back over her shoulder. 'You may keep it.'

Looking stunned, he didn't even thank her.

--

Halloween night came, and with it the big party. The committee had finished the party preparations a week beforehand, and Robert had finally found some last-minute time to finish his costume. He had chosen to go as a dwarf, and he still had to make the pointed hat and buy a beard and some shoes. Luckily there had been another trip to the village before the party night so he had been able to get everything he had still been missing, including a new set of quills. The one Isla gave him he held in honour, not using it too often as not to break it.

Standing in front of the mirror, Robert turned from left to right checking that everything sat correctly. He looked acceptable he decided and left his dorm rather hurriedly seeing that he was late again.

In the Great Hall the headmaster, Professor Kasteros, was already giving his party welcoming speech. Robert slipped in through the double doors and then quickly looked around, finding himself a still vacant seat at his housemates' table. On his way over to his friends he saw the most unusual costumes. Pride and joy raced through his veins; he was sure that this Halloween would go down in Hogwarts' history.

Not far from the Hufflepuff sixth years' table were the Slytherins seated. Robert immediately noticed Orwell and his friends. They were wearing robes of lords. _And they behave like them_, he thought, sending their table a dark look. None of the Slytherins noticed it though.

Suddenly food appeared in front of them. The dishes looked as delicious as always, and Robert started eating, conversing with Ranulf who sat next to him. Later, when all the plates had been cleaned, the headmaster flicked his wand, replacing the tables and chairs with comfortable sofas and small refreshment tables. This left enough space for dancing which started immediately.

The musicians started playing a quick, happy melody. The first pair entered the dancing parquet, and Robert noticed that it were Orwell and Isla. Her long dark hair was pinned up in a crown-like fashion, and the skirts of her dark red silk dress swirled amazingly when Orwell twirled her around. They looked good together, Robert had to admit, but he didn't like to see them being this close. A knot formed in his throat, and slowly envy rose, leaving a sour aftertaste on his tongue. He gulped several times but the bitterness still lingered. He decided to get himself something to drink.

Most of the evening, Robert was distracted by lots of people when they talked to him or invited him to join in their games or small competitions. He laughed a lot and enjoyed himself immensely. Only once his thoughts wandered back to Isla when he glimpsed her on the dancing parquet. But a firm shake of his head chased them away again. Under no circumstance he wanted to spoil the party for himself.

It was nearing midnight when Robert excused himself from the group he stood with to get another drink. He found a refreshment table that wasn't besieged by crowds of thirsty students and made to refill his cup.

'I would never have thought about you to be this caring.'

Robert slowly turned his head and saw the princess standing next to him; her grey eyes scrutinising his fake-bearded face. In her pretty hand an empty cup waited to be filled again. He grabbed the ladle once more, filled his cup and offered her the drink silently. She accepted, handing Robert her empty cup. Robert filled that cup for himself.

'Wouldn't you when your sister was ill?'

She didn't answer, but left the refreshments' table, steering to empty seats in the nearest corner. With a short look back over her shoulder she invited him to follow. He did as she wished.

'Maybe,' she whispered, after both had sat for several moments in silence. Her gaze was zoned out.

'I'm sure you would.'

'I'm a Slytherin.' Her haughty demeanour had reappeared.

'And that changes matters how?'

Her silent look told volumes he didn't want to see. Instead he leaned back and let his gaze wander over the assembled crowd, dressed and multicolour-painted. A lot of the students as well as several professors were dancing to the song the invited musicians were playing, the others mingling in and about, talking, laughing and joking.

'I'm not like you.'

'So far I've noticed.'

Isla tried to make eye contact and when she had, she snapped, 'You do know that your answers are going to cost you your precious neck?'

Robert returned her fathomless stare unperturbed. His logic told him to be careful with what he said and did, especially with Orwell in close distance. But his heart told him that she was not lost yet. Her interest in him and his world showed that she was willing to discover what lay beneath the beliefs she had been raised with. It would be a long and hard way, but one worth going.

'I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable,' Robert apologised and stood, intending to leave. He had to get away from her.

Isla, on the other hand, had different intentions. 'Shut up and sit down again, you idiot,' she snarled, grabbing his arm with her hand and yanking him back down next to her. 'I'm not going to tell Savaric about our talk.'

That surprised him. 'Why not?'

'Because…' she hesitated, licking her lips nervously. Robert stared; her tongue looked sweet when darting out of her mouth the way it was just doing. 'He wouldn't… understand,' she finished, bringing his attention back to her words.

'Why are you putting up with him then?'

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. 'For your information, just in case that it hasn't reached your ears yet: We. Are. Betrothed.'

'It may be a reason, but it's no visible obstacle. You can always leave him –'

'– and get punished by him and my parents? Oh, joy, what a suggestion,' she exclaimed sarcastically. 'You have no idea what I leaving Savaric would cause. I can't risk that.'

'It's your life –'

'– laden with responsibilities,' she whisper-shouted and washed away the comment he wished to phrase with a finger pressing onto his lips. 'I'm sorry, but I can't. Nothing will change that.' She stood suddenly, looking down at him. 'I better get going. Goodnight, Bob.' Within an instant she was gone, as if she had already learned to Apparate.

Robert just stared at the spot she had last stood. She had called him by his family's nickname.

And at her final words her eyes had looked sad.

* * *

As always, thanks to my beta, mudbloodproud.

Also, thanks for reading, and why not leave me a review to tell me what you thought?


	12. Chapter Twelve: Search

There are some German phrases throughout this chapter; the translation you find at the end.

* * *

– chapter twelve –

**Search**

_It is dark and cold, ice gleaming in the moon's eerie soft winter light. No wind __blows, everything around stands still and silent. The trees glitter silvery with the ice covering their needles, and it looks as if they were simply sleeping, covered by a white blanket. Above in the dark blue night sky shimmer millions of stars, twinkling down from around and within the light blue ribbon that wounds its way across the firmament. The little light reaching the ground is reflected by the snow and ice allowing her to see._

_She is alone, slowly walking through the dense wood, her steps grinding loudly in the thick blanket of snow. She wears only a simple blanket over her quite thin white gown and her breath morphs into a cloud as soon as it leaves her mouth and nose. She shivers, but continues walking, not once turning around to look back._

_From time to time she calls a name, at first loud and clear, her voice's echo lingering behind between the trees. But after a while it dissolves to only a mere whisper, held alive only by her wish to see him again. By now she is shaking from head to toe, but still continues onwards._

_A silent rush of wind blows suddenly through the forest, the movement carrying the sound of a voice. _Audovera _it whispers, and she stops, rigid, but swivelling around immediately, only to have the wind blow directly into her face. Her long blonde hair turns silvery white the moment the winter wind meets it, blowing about with the wind's soft force. She closes her eyes to listen carefully and again she hears the whisper. She rejoices and calls, 'Alaric!', but it goes silent again. The wind moves on, taking all sound with it, and it is not coming back. Again she calls for him, but again she hears nothing in response._

_She closes her eyes and opens her arms, lifting them towards the night sky, praying to the spirits to bring him back to her. But the only answer she gets is a tinkle of the air with a sudden sweep of coldness. Crows that have been sleeping rise high into the night-time sky, calling warningly. The frozen trees creak, then fall deadly silent; as do the crows._

_She knows what will happen and tears roll out of her eyes, but they never reach her cheeks; they freeze as soon as they leave her eyelashes. Slowly the deadly cold lies itself over the wood. She breathes again, whispers 'Alaric' one last time. But she is to never see her beloved again; the cold wave reaches and sweeps over her, and her shaking body succumbs to the winter._

_Has it been dark and cold before, it now is pitch black and icy. Time flies by; it could be seconds, or long-lasting centuries. For her it feels like eternity. Around her nature awakes and falls into slumber again and again. She feels the wind hurl by, hears the water sing, smells the fire and rotates with earth's path. She tries to open her eyes, but can't. One moment sounds deafen her, the next sudden silence presses on her ears. She starts shaking again._

Habe keine Angst_, a purring voice whispers, strong but soft at the same time, coming from near and yet being far away._

_And she calms inside._

Audovera_, a voice she knows calls softly from afar, and she answers, calling out for her beloved,_ Ich bin hier!

Ich weiß.

Wo bist du?

Hier, in dir_, the voice answers and she opens her eyes, looking into the soft blue eyes she fell in love with. She feels the ghost of his hand at her heart and closes her eyes again, warmth spreading through her, driving away the stiff cold that holds her body in a vice-like grip._

_Another voice sounds, softly yet nonetheless boomingly saying, _Jeder Suchende soll finden, was sein Herz begehrt. Und doch wird Leben nicht wieder gegeben wenn es einmal genommen.

Wo ist Alaric?

Er ist nah und doch fern von dir. In diesem Leben wird er dir nicht mehr begegnen, doch du wirst ihn treffen, bald_, a fourth voice says, this one melodic._

Achte auf dein Herz_, another unknown voice advises, its sound snapping like twigs in a fire,_ und du sollst finden deines Herzens Wunsch.

Aufmerksamkeit und Wahrheit_, the very first voice whispers._

Deine Suche soll erleichtert werden_, the booming voice speaks from far, and she feels the change. Her body grows, her limbs morph. Her hair embraces her, then turns from silky and soft to rough and tapered. Her skin hardens and suddenly feels like bark. Slowly she opens her eyes and discovers an entirely new world in her grasp. She looks around and sees a reflection in the ice, mirroring her new appearance._ Die Weißtanne erlaubt dir die Suche fortzusetzen, doch denke daran, dass es am Ende deine Entscheidung sein wird_, the booming voice continues._

**Du** hast die Wahl_, he whispers, the ghost of his lips lingering on hers._

Alaric_, she whispers, then falls forever silent._

--

Isla sat up, her breath hitched, her forehead warm and sweaty. Within her head everything swirled, the dream weaving in and out of her memory's mist. But it hadn't felt like only a dream; she could still remember the embracing hair turning rough and tapered, could still feel the bark instead of skin. It felt as if it had been her being turned into the silver fir instead of the girl.

Sliding her legs out of the bed, she hid her face in her hands, rubbing it with them to chase away the memory. It helped after a while and Isla got her head clear again. She sat upright and intended to go back to sleep, but her eyes fell on something lying on top of her night table. Soft silver light shone from a slender object, and she extended her arm to touch it. Like in a trance her fingers slowly fingered the material, then her hand picked it up.

Never waking from her trance-like state she laid the object into her lap, both her hands covering it defensively. But the emitting light grew brighter and warmer, and she had to eventually take away her hands in order to not burn her palms. Eerie silver light spread within the dormitory, reflected in her usually grey eyes that then had turned white.

A sudden image took over, her inner eye seeing things that she had never experienced. She saw a wood, stood right in its middle, the surrounding trees pointing high into the dark, night-time sky. They were all white, ice glittering in the stars twinkle. A soft wind blew, whispering silently. She didn't understand it, but felt drawn to it, wanted to follow the wind. But she couldn't move.

The image morphed suddenly and she was flying, faster and more agile than she would have ever been able to do on her own. The whispers were there again, calling softly _Audovera_. She knew it was cold, but she didn't feel it; instead she continued weaving around the trees.

Again the image changed. She stood, rigid. It was cold and yet warm. Everything was smooth and clear, shining brightly. Again the whispers sounded, a female voice calling _Alaric_.

The third change found her in perfect warmth, her entire being from head to toe engulfed in heat. Yet it was comfortably and she sighed, the sound coming forth in a crackle.

With the fourth image change she found herself surrounded by complete darkness. It was at the same time warm and cold, but damp, too. She breathed deeply and it felt like Earth's weight pressing onto her. Feeling completely overwhelmed she closed her eyes…

--

Panting rapidly, my heart wildly hammering in my chest, I opened my eyes. I still lay in my bed and was now staring at the canopy above. I gulped down the dream's intensity and tried to regain my control and normal breathing. It had felt so real.

Slowly I got myself into an upright sitting position, the bed cover rustling with my movements. For a while I simply sat there, staring into nothingness, but then my hands rose on their own to rub my wide-awake yet from the sleep still stinging eyes; they stilled as soon as I realised what I was doing. It was just what had happened in the dream. I slowly turned my head around to look at my wand, which lay on top of my bedside table, still and just as normal as usually. Its light silver appearance didn't brighten the dorm; instead, the darkness of the room swallowed the soft light it emitted. I slowly leaned over to take it, but hesitated for unknown reasons. _Get a grip on yourself, Black, it was just a dream_, I scolded myself inwardly and then firmly took a hold of it.

The slender wood felt cool, but got warm after I had fingered it for a while. Slowly, the silver shimmer reappeared and the dream crashed back into my memory. Once again I saw everything play before my inner eye; I heard every sound, felt everything, was everywhere.

After some moments the pictures slowly faded from my memory once more. _What had just happened? _I asked myself for probably the hundredth time since just like before I didn't receive an answer.

I sank back into my pillow, snuggling into my cover, the wand still in hand. I held it before my eyes and for another time that night the dream's images played in front of my inner eyes, this time in a disorganised pattern. Just like in the dream I was there, in this wood, seeing everything as clear as if I had stood there myself. The wind whispered, the water clinked, a small fire crackled and the earth carried all burdens. Among the four nature spirits stood Audovera, the girl that had wandered the winter night in search for her lover Alaric, turned into the world's first silver fir.

--

Isla fell asleep again while staring at her wand. She didn't notice the slender wood morph and had no chance to hear the silent whispers sounding in the dormitory. And she never saw the wand colour into purest silver, the emitting light washing over the sixteen year old's sleeping form.

But she dreamed about a young man with clear blue eyes.

-----

Habe keine Angst. - Don't be afraid.

Ich bin hier! - I am here!

Ich weiß. - I know.

Wo bist du? - Where are you?

Hier, in dir. - Here, inside you.

Jeder Suchende soll finden, was sein Herz begehrt. Und doch wird Leben nicht wieder gegeben wenn es einmal genommen. - Every viewfinder shall find what his heart desires. But life will not be given back once it is taken.

Wo ist Alaric? - Where is Alaric?

Er ist nah und doch fern von dir. In diesem Leben wird er dir nicht mehr begegnen, doch du wirst ihn treffen, bald. - He is close, yet far away. In this life he will not meet you again, but you will see him, soon.

Achte auf dein Herz und du sollst finden deines Herzens Wunsch. - Pay attention to your heart and you shall find its desire.

Aufmerksamkeit und Wahrheit. - Attention and truth.

Deine Suche soll erleichtert werden. Die Weißtanne erlaubt dir die Suche fortzusetzen, doch denke daran, dass es am Ende deine Entscheidung sein wird. - Your search will be made easier. The silver fir allows you to continue your search, but remember that it will be your decision in the end.

Du hast die Wahl. - You have the choice.

* * *

Again, thanks to my faithful beta reader mudbloodproud.

Please tell me what you think of this chapter. I love hearing your thoughts. Thanks for reading and stay tuned for the next chapter.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Saturday

I'm so incredibly sorry for the mega-long wait. I totally forgot about updating this story. That said, I have not abandoned it.

As always, thanks to my beta mudbloodproud.

* * *

– chapter thirteen –

**Saturday**

The next morning saw me all grumpy. I had slept badly the rest of the night, always drifting in and out of this mysterious dream. The dorm had felt cold whenever I briefly awoke, and even the thick blanket under which I had holed myself up could do nothing to warm me. I had frozen bitterly.

Savaric asked me what had happened the moment he saw me; he even left out the morning greeting, asking without further ado why I looked so pale. This showed me how concerned he was about my well-being, and it felt good to know he was there for me. But I couldn't answer his question. Not that I didn't want to give him a response – I just couldn't. I tried telling him about the dream, but it was as if there were powers that didn't want him to know; they sealed my lips, and no sound came out. At some point I simply gave up trying to let him in on the dream.

His expression when I turned away was that of anger and mistrust. He couldn't know I couldn't tell him, because I wasn't even able to let him know I couldn't speak about it. Something more powerful than I made sure that the dream stayed a secret, and everything that might be connected to it was included into the silence that surrounded me. It was frustrating sometimes; especially now that I would have to deal with Savaric's unpredictability again.

Though, has my fiancé ever been predictable?

'Miss Black?'

My thoughts had gone as far astray as imaginable, and I hadn't even noticed that I've been sitting in class. It took Savaric's snapping fingers in front of my eyes for me to notice Professor Carpenter having called upon me. Needless to say, I had missed what the class was about, hadn't heard the question and was thus unable to answer accordingly. It came as no surprise that I lost five points for Slytherin.

My concentration that day failed miserably and completely. I think I only took notice of Professor Carpenter announcing the homework for Charms, but everything else just went past like the wind – too quickly to grasp and keep hold of it. Even my own thoughts jumped left and right without a pattern of any sort. I even considered skipping the scheduled homework afternoon with Savaric in the library, but some inner voice contradicted my consciousness and urged me to go there.

The entire day, I felt like being pushed back and forth like a chess figure, only I didn't play the game this time, having no control over the moves on the board. This time I was the pawn. I was being played with.

But by whom?

I had no idea.

--

Robert felt weary. He wasn't ill and couldn't explain why he had no interest in anything at all from the moment on he got up. The classes flew by in a hurry that left him wondering if time had decided to double or even triple its pace. If it weren't for Ranulf and his other friends, he would have missed all homework handed out that day.

'What's up with you, Bob?' Avice asked. She had recovered from her illness and left the Hospital Wing a week before the Halloween party. 'You look lost in thought since I first saw you this morning.'

He failed to answer her. He hadn't even heard her question. He didn't hear anything his friends said… at all. All he heard was a soft whisper in his ears. Robert tried to listen carefully, but he just couldn't understand the words being murmured. The whisper itself wavered in and out, being far and very near at the same time, creating a sound effect of being everywhere. It echoed along the hallways, the walls, the sky outside, even from within his heart. It was ever present, tuning out everything else.

In a way, it was hypnotising.

'Robert?' Ranulf questioned worriedly, prodding his friend on the shoulder. 'Answer me!'

The Hufflepuffs looked horror-stricken. Panic slowly rose amongst their group, and they were about to grab Robert underneath the arms to bring him to the Hospital Wing when he started walking, faster and faster, completely in trance, towards the end of the corridor. They shouted for him to stop, but he didn't react to them.

He turned the corner.

--

After lunch, a quiet whisper has appeared, constantly singing into my ear. I strained to listen to the words, and it was as if I was back in the dream. _Audovera_ it murmured, over and over again.

Who was she? I could swear by my life that I had heard the name before; not in the dream, but even before. If I only knew where…

Without my consent, my feet had dragged me to the library. It was closed, however; a sign at the double doors said the matron had decided to spend that day tidying up and cataloguing new books. But it was important I got in there. Something bad would happen if I couldn't find what I was searching.

I didn't even know what it was that craved me to hit the books, but it was definitely not the homework session.

The sound of steps from around the next corner let me look up, and I halfway expected Savaric to already turn up. But I noticed something else. I was suddenly unusually alerted to my surroundings; something I hadn't been the entire day so far. It surprised me myself a bit, but I had no time to stay on that thought as in that moment, someone turned into the corridor I stood in.

When he saw me, he halted in mid-step, staring at me. His blue eyes were glassed over, seeing me and not noticing me at the same time. A strange sensation ran down my spine, and I felt he experienced the same, his eyes now wide in wonder and realisation. I must have looked exactly like him.

A sudden sweep of wind hurled through the corridor, blowing up our robes. And with the wind came the whisper again:

_Audovera._

And as if I had never done anything else, I responded automatically.

'Alaric.'

--

To see her standing there, just like that, in that graceful way she called her own, was a sight Robert had so often dreamed about. She was absolutely beautiful, and no Orwell was to be seen.

Was she his? Finally, after such a long time?

A sudden sweep of wind hurled through the corridor, blowing up their robes and her hair, its silk black tresses glittering in the little light that entered the corridor. And with the wind came the whisper again:

_Alaric._

And as if he had never done anything else, he responded automatically.

'Audovera.'

--

_A sudden image took over, their inner eyes seeing things that they had never experienced. They saw a wood, stood right in its middle, the surrounding trees pointing high into the dark, night-time sky. They were all white, ice glittering in the stars twinkle. A soft wind blew, whispering silently. They didn't understand it, but felt drawn to it, wanted to follow the wind. But they couldn't move._

_The image morphed suddenly and they were flying, faster and more agile than they would have ever been able to do on their own. The whispers were there again, calling softly _Audovera_. They knew it was cold, but they didn't feel it; instead they continued weaving around the trees._

_Again the image changed. They stood, rigid. It was cold and yet warm. Everything was smooth and clear, shining brightly. Again the whispers sounded, a female voice calling _Alaric_._

_The third change found them in perfect warmth, their entire beings from head to toe engulfed in heat. Yet it was comfortably and they sighed, the sounds coming forth in a crackle._

_With the fourth image change, they found themselves surrounded by complete darkness. It was at the same time warm and cold, but damp, too. They breathed deeply and it felt like Earth's weight pressing onto them. Feeling completely overwhelmed they closed their eyes…_

--

'Isla!'

Someone shook me, called my name, and yet I was unable to respond in any way. My limbs didn't obey my commands, and my voice had gone, the silence once again sealing my lips. My eyes wouldn't open, no matter how hard I tried.

Only my ears were working like they were supposed to.

'Isla! Answer me if you can hear me!'

_I can hear you_, my thoughts said, responding to the command.

Yet I couldn't answer.

'Isla!' Panic grew in the voice. The speaker cared; he was worried, very worried.

Muffled voices shortly penetrated my mind, and I tried to listen. I only caught a few incoherent syllables, the most prominent among them coming from a young man with a recognisable but feeble voice:

'Audovera.'

Then darkness engulfed my mind and being.

--

It should have been an enjoyable day that weekend. Savaric had planned the last Hogsmeade weekend before the Christmas holidays to the detail, weeks previous, wanting to make the day unforgettable for his betrothed. He knew that she had wished to spend some quality time with him alone, and his intention had been to fulfil it to show her how much he really liked her. Because he, Savaric Orwell, heir to the powerful Orwell Family, had fallen in love with his betrothed. But fortune had other plans, it seemed.

'Are you sure that you will be fine?' he asked, sitting on her bed in the hospital wing, scratching her cat behind the ears, the little feline purring loudly. Isla had fainted two days previous, in the corridor to the library, and had awoken more than twenty hours later only. She had immediately caught a fever and been talking in her sleep. However, the only word she said, and repeated over and over again, was Alaric. Savaric didn't know the meaning of it, but he had insisted that his fiancée was to stay in the hospital wing under supervision of Healer Aramus for the duration of her illness – no matter how long it would take for her to get better. He was insisting that she was cared for properly.

'Yes, I am,' she said with a weak voice. Her attempt at smiling reassuringly failed, and she suddenly dissolved into a heavy coughing that let her body bend over and shake wildly. Savaric felt pity for her clearly visible discomfort. But when she still hadn't stopped coughing after several moments and even started ranging for air, sounding like a dying dog, he sprung down from where he sat on the bed and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to lie down. It still didn't improve anything for Isla so he decided to fetch Healer Aramus.

The man came running out of his little office, adjourned to the hospital wing, when he learned about his patient's state. With one quick look, he had assessed the situation and forced her to gulp down a violet potion that smelled like rotten fish. She drank as ordered and the coughing subsided, but when she had regained normal breathing, her skin colour morphed from ghostly pale to a slight greenish tone; hastily she sprung out of bed and ran into the hospital wing's adjourned bathroom, bending over a sink. With loud retches, she vomited.

Savaric and Healer Aramus had followed her, the former more than just worried; she had swayed dangerously when running to the bathroom, and Savaric wanted to be there to catch her should she faint once again.

When Isla had nothing more inside her stomach that could come out, she sank weakly to the floor but Savaric was with her with the blink of an eye. He held her back and lifted her legs, then carried her back towards the bed, Isla's head leaning against his shoulder. Her skin was glowing from the fever. When lying her down gently, Savaric ushered the cat away to make room for its owner. Isla had paled again and panted heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the strength to catch air. With a shaking hand she grabbed his fingers and tucked him closer.

'You go,' she whispered, her voice rasping. 'Do not let the day get spoiled. I'm fine.'

'You are not,' he contradicted. 'I have just witnessed what you call "fine". No, I'm going to stay here.'

'Savaric, there's… there's no need for that.'

'Oh yes? And what if you get worse?'

'Then, Mr Orwell,' the Healer interrupted, 'she will lie in her bed and cure her illness.'

Savaric scoffed, 'As if Isla will do what she is told to do. I know her better than that.'

'Savaric –' Isla began, but the Healer interrupted again, his voice stern, 'Mr Orwell, when I intend to supervise a patient, then I do so with all means. And I usually do not allow them to get out of bed when they are seriously ill. In fact, I was going to provide Miss Black with this.' He took out a vial, filled with yellowish liquid, giving it a slight shake.

'What is it?' Isla asked curiously. Her grey eyes were glassy from the fewer.

'It's a potion providing sleep. It has a slight side-effect, however; the drinker might get the one or other strange dream. But the sleep is very much curing, the best medicine for a high fever and bad cold.' He uncorked the vial and offered her the potion. Thankfully, Isla took it and downed the vial's content in one go. The effect occurred immediately; Isla fell back into the cushions, sleeping deeply.

'Fine,' Savaric eventually consented after some moments of just watching her now peaceful looking face. 'I'll leave her. Come on, Sol.' He reached for the feline that had curled itself comfortably next to its owner's head on the cushion, but the Healer offered, 'You can leave the cat with her, Mr Orwell. I don't mind such a little cutie in the Hospital Wing, and this way Miss Black will have some company when she awakes.'

With a last doubtful look towards the Healer, Savaric bid his farewell and left the hospital wing. He planned to spend the day with his comrades now.

--

I awoke to hushed voices whispering in close proximity, probably next to my ward. Sol lay on my stomach, blinking his eyes sleepily. The feline's body rose and sank with my breathing, and it purred contently. His front paws lay stretched out and gently massaged me through my night-gown. I weakly lifted a hand and stroked my pet's head fondly; it lifted its head and opened its eyes, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

'Ah, Miss Black, you're awake again. How are you feeling?' Healer Aramus said, coming around the ward's wall.

'A little bit better,' I answered while he checked my temperature with a hand on my forehead. 'The sleep did help a lot.'

'I daresay. But your fever is still a bit high and you still sound very weak, so stay right where you are and I'll quickly concoct you another potion.'

'Thank you,' I whispered but he was already hurrying away.

I intended to just close my eyes and go back to sleep without the potion, but a head popping around the ward's wall caught my curiosity. I focused my gaze and discovered a familiar person.

'I didn't know that you were really ill,' Robert said and slowly came closer. Sol lifted its head and mewed welcomingly.

I coughed a bit and explained, 'I've been here since two days ago, after that strange… "incident" on the library corridor. Savaric told he had brought me here.'

Robert nodded. 'My friends said you'd been unconscious after the "incident" for more than twenty hours.' His eyes darted everywhere but meeting my own. 'I saw you only briefly. You were so pale.'

I looked at him the entire time, but something made me choose my next words with carefulness. 'I was told I was talking while I was unconscious from the fever.'

Now his blue eyes sought out my grey ones. On the outside he was calm, but his thoughts were racing. I could literally feel the mixture of excitement, worry and something else I could not name pouring out of him. It encircled and engulfed him like a soft but gleaming cloak. 'And,' he began, his voice shivering slightly, 'what were you saying?'

Everyone else might have not seen anything bad in this question. Everyone else might have answered quite simply, with the truth. But what held me back? What let my voice remain silent? I had seen him in that corridor. I had heard him whisper the name that went with the one my mind was chanting at the very moment, urging me to say it out loud. So why was the one figure that played with us not allowing me to voice it towards Robert who was more than clearly involved?

'Do you have an idea what it means?' Robert's voice brought me back from the trip down my thoughts. He didn't seem to be disappointed for the lack of my answer to his other question, but I knew he was, deep down.

'What means what?' I stupidly asked. His question hadn't registered with me; I was still too engulfed in my own thoughts.

The look he sent me was unreadable which was a novelty; he had never before been able to hide his thoughts or feelings behind a mask as he was not used to wearing one, and I was too skilled in reading him. But either he had really quickly learned it in the last days, or I was too weak to see through his mask; I tended towards the latter. 'The dreams we had. The story behind Audovera and Alaric.' He sounded as if he had to suppress the excitement to find out about the lovers because that was what they apparently had been, once.

And which was exactly what I wanted to find out, too. I also felt the same excitement Robert did. I needed to know more about them. Who were they? What connected them to Robert and me? To my wand?

My gaze fell on the slender wood lying on the small bedside table.

'You know, with all others gone to the village, we could go to the library to find out about them,' Robert suggested, his fingers drawing patterns on the bed cover. Sol's eyes were fixed on the Hufflepuff's every move. It was relaxing, watching my cat being in a playful hunting mood. A small but happy smile stole itself onto my lips.

'Savaric and I originally wanted to spend this day in Hogsmeade together,' I then told Robert, all of a sudden feeling in the mood to talk. 'But seeing that I now have fever…'

'Yes… I know… bad idea to go to the village then.' _Or to the library_, he seemed to want to add, but remained silent for which I was thankful. I didn't need another reminder of my inconvenient illness.

Silence fell during which Robert hoisted himself up onto a small edge of my bed, reaching out a hand to scratch Sol behind his ears. The cat's purring intensified. Just then I noticed a bandage on his left hand.

'What happened to your fingers?' I asked, motioning towards his injury.

'Oh, that…' He grinned stupidly. 'I have been brewing a potion with Avice, you know, a class and housemate of mine…' I nodded and he continued, 'Anyway, we had decided to spend this day improving my potion brewing skills instead of going into the village with the rest of the school. I have been cutting ginger roots when the knife slipped and sliced my fingers.' I pulled a face; he was such a walking disaster sometimes. 'I could admit, too, though,' he continued, his voice having dropped in volume; he looked around as if he was about to tell me a conspiracy, 'that my thoughts had been… _distracted_ from the thick fumes coming from the cauldron.'

My eyebrows went up, and I gave a sound from me that sounded like snorting.

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. 'I didn't know ladies snort.'

'I didn't.'

Robert shook his head. 'You very well did.'

'Ladies don't snort, like you said. And I am –'

'You are what?' he interrupted me, grinning from one ear to the other. Apparently, he had a lot of fun teasing me like this. 'You want to be a lady? There's a lot more that makes a real lady.'

My eyes tightened, and when I responded, my voice was dangerous. 'Every born female Black is a lady, Hitchens. Never question that or you might regret it one day.' I was a bit surprised at myself for the choice of my words as well as that I sounded like a hissing and spitting cat.

For some long moments, no one spoke. Sol had even stopped purring; instead, he had got up and was staring intently at Robert, his eyes mirroring my defensiveness from moments before. But sitting together without saying a word can only last so much.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,' the Hufflepuff finally apologised. I didn't say anything in return; I merely nodded my consent, and he was forgiven. Sol visibly relaxed and mewed.

I pointed at his bandaged hand. 'And now?'

He looked at it for some time before answering, 'Healer Aramus mended everything and it's going to be as good as before – or, rather, as clumsy as before.' Robert at first only smiled, not meeting my gaze, but when he then looked at me and caught my lips twitching with amusement, he openly laughed at his own joke. The sound of his laughter was contagious, and I couldn't do anything else than giggle right along. He could be quite cute when he was like that.

Sol had now completely stopped staring at Robert and stretched himself, his weight pressing into my stomach, but I didn't mind; he didn't weigh much. Then the feline toddled towards my face, mewled several times, then sat down on its behind and began licking my left cheek. I giggled at the tickling feeling and gasped, 'Stop it. You're tickling me.' Sol didn't want to stop I mused when the feline's tongue continued to meet my skin. I had to use my arms to push my cat away; Sol settled licking my hand instead, however. 'I said stop it, you little wanker. It tickles,' I giggled, then added more sternly, 'Solaris!'

As if I had slapped my pet, the cat stopped the licking instantly, mewled sulkily, then jumped off the bed, and with his tail raised high into the air, trudged out of the ward. I shouted after it to call it back, but without success. Sol didn't even deign to look at me.

'Wow,' Robert said, smirking, 'this feline has personality.' I glared at him, but he continued speaking, this time more sincere, 'I thought his name was Sol.'

Just then I realised what I had called the cat and looked into Robert's eyes. Their expression was surprise mingled with shock and pride. I smiled shyly, feeling my cheeks redden. I doubted it was because of the fever. 'It is, but just the nickname,' I explained, diverting my eyes and looking everywhere but at him. 'His real name is Solaris though. I named him… this because I liked the name.' After a few seconds debating whether or not to add it, I just did. 'The same name you gave yourself after our project back then.'

The fond and happy sparkle in the clear blue eyes was everything but born from my imagination. And the warmth that radiated through me – I was sure this time that it had definitely nothing to do with the fever – made me realise that it was a fantastic feeling, being smiled at like this.

And I realised that I could drown for evermore in Bob's smiles.

* * *

Please let me know what you think by reviewing. Thanks.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Significance

Thank you for the reviews and story alerts. I might not always reply to the reviews - but I read and cherish them all. So thank you very much for your kind words.

Also, thank you, as always, to my lovely beta mudbloodproud.

* * *

– chapter fourteen –

**Significance**

The following weeks flew by in a blur. I barely found time to breathe, not even at the weekends, with the increasing amount of homework and essays set. Many spells and jinxes were no longer as easy to master as they had been the previous five years. Also, several professors already started reminding us of the NEWT exams next year, repeating over and over again how important early revisions were. Adding to the workload were my duties as prefect. I had at least once a week patrol duties, and was expected to keep rule and order around the clock anyway.

It therefore came as a kind of surprise when Savaric asked me one day at breakfast what I had planned for the Christmas holidays. The question let me choke on my pumpkin juice. Savaric pretended not to notice my predicament, talking nonchalantly to Servius Pearce sitting to his other side, but he nonetheless rubbed my back to help me breathe normally again. When I was able to gather enough air to speak properly, I asked, 'Isn't it a bit early for Christmas plans already?'

Everyone around us who heard my words snickered. 'Where have you been, Black?' one boy a few seats away from me asked. 'It's only two more weeks before the break.'

I looked at him with slight shock. Before I could say anything though, I noticed Savaric glare at him, hissing, 'Mind your tongue, half-blood. Have a bit more respect towards a sixth year, pure-blooded Black and prefect.' The boy – a fourth year as I now remembered – flushed red, mumbled a quick apology and hurried to leave the table.

I turned to Savaric who was now looking at me. 'Was that really necessary?' I whispered fiercely. Sometimes, he went too far with his talk about blood and status. As if it really mattered when the most important thing in a person is the character, not the background one comes from.

He raised an eyebrow, his dark brown eyes boring into mine. He didn't acknowledge any of my words, as was typical for him. Sometimes, I wanted to scream at him in rage, wanted to slap some sense into him. But of course, a proper lady of the Blacks wouldn't show such atrocious behaviour – at least not publically. Additionally, I wondered if I would even be strong enough, physically as well as mentally, to speak openly against Savaric. I doubted it.

With a huff, I turned away from him, having my entire attention focus on my breakfast. I picked up a fork and ate some bites, without much appetite, but I still felt his stare on me. It made me feel tense, and after several long moments of silence between us, I risked a brief glance at him. And as I had thought, he was still looking at me.

I blushed slightly which drew a tiny smile into his face. It didn't reach his eyes, however, but it showed that he had caught my weakness. At least he opted to speak to me again.

'So, what are your plans?'

Shrugging, I replied, 'I don't have anything planned yet, seeing that I didn't realise Christmas was this close already.'

Savaric's smile widened a bit. He handed me a letter. 'Father wrote that we would go visit my sister and her husband in Vienna this year.' I remembered Sybil. I had been at her wedding with Cadmus Selwyn the last summer. 'Father asked me to invite you. Are you interested?'

Vienna sounded like a nice option. 'Thank you. It sounds great. I need to ask my parents first though.'

'Don't worry about that,' Savaric said casually, his one hand crawling up my arm to play with a lock of my hair. 'I have already owled them. I expect their answer in the course of today.'

I couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness. Additionally, I just knew that when Savaric wrote to my parents, they couldn't do anything else than give their permission. I grew cheerful in the prospect of visiting Vienna this year.

--

I had never been to the continental Europe before. Usually, my family would spend the holidays at home in London or in our summer mansion in the Lake District. After all, father needed to be close to London for he had to go to the Ministry for work. But this year was a first in two aspects: It was my first visit to Austria, and my first holidays without my family.

Before I could leave for the Orwells' mansion though, there was a knock on my door. It was Mother.

'Isla, I need to talk to you about something.' Her tone was serious, as was her face. I raised my eyebrows in question but gestured for her to come in and sit. 'It's… about you and Savaric.'

I sat down next to her. 'Okay.'

'I don't know how much you know about the physical duties of a wife, but I want to warn you. Your father and I allow you to go with the Orwells under the presumption that you return in a week, unharmed –'

'Savaric would never hurt me, Mother,' I interrupted, but she held up a hand, indicating that she hadn't yet finished the sentence.

'– and untouched.' She emphasised the last word especially, willing me with her eyes to understand what she meant.

She wanted me to return as a virgin.

I gulped and blushed slightly. My family did not yet know about me having lost my virginity on my sixteenth birthday. But it had been my wish and Savaric had fulfilled it. Though, my parents needn't to know that. It would only anger my father and hurt the family reputation.

'Isla?' I looked at Mother; her tone had turned quite hard.

'I promise to look out,' I said sincerely.

She nodded, then stood. 'Get ready. Father wants to bring you to the Orwells' mansion personally.'

I stood, too, but waited until she had left my room before I finished gathering the items I would take with me. I could have called upon Themis to help me pack, but I knew that Elle was currently keeping both elves busy with duty errands. She was stocking her wardrobe anew and ordered the elves into Diagon Alley quite often to look for fine and rare cloth.

Half an hour later, Father and I stood in the Orwells' salon. An elf greeted us and asked if we would like something to drink. Father declined, and when Mr Orwell entered the room a second later, Father officially handed my care over to my future father-in-law. Mr Orwell promised to look after me like I were his daughter – what I already practically was – and then father Disapparated.

To Vienna, we travelled by Apparition, Mr Orwell having reserved four spots at the Department of International Transport. Since I was still sixteen and had yet to have Apparition lessons, I would go by Side-Along with Mr Orwell. Savaric had already passed his test, but for safety reasons, his father asked him to at least hold onto his mother. Savaric scoffed at the order, behind his father's back only of course, but went along with it anyway. I inwardly rolled my eyes at Savaric's antics.

The Ministry of Austria was different than the British one. It wasn't build into the ground but hidden in the Muggle Parliament. It was therefore real sunlight that greeted us when we appeared in the intended location. The Ministry official greeted us, gave us our directions and saw to it – personally – that we found our way out. And there we were, in Vienna, the capital of architecture, art and music.

Cadmus had ordered a carriage for us, and the ride lead along streets aligned with houses of exceptional architectural build. I looked around quite frantically to not miss anything. There were houses in white and beige, with columns, the style reminding me of Ancient Greek architecture. But there were also houses and cathedrals of Phoenician and Gothic build as well as many other styles. It was a melting pot of various architectural designs, but nothing clashed. Everything fitted neatly, and the trees and flower beds at the wayside and parks that were strewn along the way gave the city a really homely and wealthy atmosphere.

Cadmus and Sybil Selwyn lived in a luxury mansion in a noble part of the city; Savaric told me the name of the district, but since I didn't speak German, I forgot it again quickly. The house had three floors, each sporting a large bathroom and several suite-like bedrooms. The one I got for the week of our visit was equipped with a large, comfortable-looking bed, complete with silken canopy, as well as mahogany precious wood furniture. The room was located on the third floor, next to the room Savaric would live in for the next days. The room's window was high, and the soft winter sunlight brightened the wall, held in pastel yellow, exquisitely. For a few minutes, I simply stood at the window, enjoying the view over the roofs of Vienna. Here and there, pigeons flew up, their bodies dark silhouettes against the otherwise azure sky. There were no clouds, and from somewhere, a cathedral's bells were sounding. It was a beautiful and peaceful moment.

The week went by quickly, like all the previous weeks had. One day early in the week, Sybil had a well-known tailor come to the house, and Mrs Orwell, Sybil and I got new dresses. They were finished two days later, and on New Year's Eve, all six of us went to a ball in the Minister's palace, us women wearing our new gowns. Savaric told me that the Austrian Minister of Magic was a nobleman among the Muggle aristocrats which meant there would be Muggles as well, and that maybe even the emperor would come, with his family. And although Muggles were normally not the kind of people the Orwells and Selwyns mingled with, they couldn't possibly deny the invitation to this ball for the highest aristocracy of the country was expected. Savaric literally gnashed his teeth but kept quiet with his usual comments on Muggles while we were introduced to the majority of the guests.

The dress I had got was made of finest silk, Chinese as the tailor had said. The light turquoise colour was laced with lavender. Light set beautiful accents on the dress, making me stand out, despite every woman present being beautiful beyond words. Therefore, to Savaric's dismay, several young men noticed me and asked me to dance with them, and I enjoyed every single dance. The young men were all excellent dancers. Though, Savaric himself stole me away from the young Austrians' attentions for the majority of the dances, holding me possessively. Again, I felt exasperated at his possessiveness over me, but in a way it also flattered me, being the object of his desires. I kissed him on the cheeks in the hope to have him relax a bit. It didn't help much and I sighed inwardly.

One of the most memorable hours of the evening was, however, when the emperor himself entered the room. Everyone bowed and greeted him respectfully. An aura of authority but closeness to the people surrounded him. He danced, too, first with his wife and then several other noblewomen, but at one point, I noticed him looking at me while I danced with Savaric. As soon as the music was over and a slow Viennese Waltz started, he came over and gallantly asked for me to dance with him. I blushed, glanced at Savaric whose face was expressionless, but Savaric nodded his consent. I curtseyed politely and was led into the middle of the room.

'You are from England, Mylady,' the emperor opened the conversation after a while. It surprised me for he spoke in my language rather than his own.

'That is correct, Your Majesty,' I replied quietly. 'May I ask how you knew that?'

He smiled. 'I spoke with Count Heberling earlier tonight, and he said that his friend Cadmus Selwyn had guests. The family of his wife has come from London to visit over Christmas and the change of year.'

I wondered what else the emperor knew or what the Minister had told him. Did he know we were magic? 'It's true, Your Majesty.' I gave him a smile in return. Silence then fell while we continued the rhythmic dance. However, at one point, I noticed the emperor look at me with an unreadable glance. 'Is something wrong, Your Majesty?' I asked, my tone worried.

'You look… how shall I say it… like having sprung right out of a legend I used to hear when I was still a child.' My eyes widened slightly in surprise to his words, but I carefully held my expressionless mask in place. 'I just thought how remarkable that is.'

'Indeed,' I said, then asked, 'Would Your Majesty care to share the legend with me?'

His head turned away from me, and out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him scanning the room. Was he looking for someone? If yes, who? Was he maybe even looking for Savaric to make sure he wouldn't interrupt his tale? After a brief moment, he stepped out of the dance's rhythm, leading me off the dance floor. 'Please follow me. I need a bit fresh air.'

I nodded, and while he led the way through the crowd which parted for us until we stepped out onto one of the palace's balconies, I wondered what he was going to tell me. My curiosity grew with every passing second, but even after we stood for quite some time on the balcony, the fresh winter air engulfing us with a cool breeze, the emperor still hadn't spoken. That was when I slowly stepped up to where he leaned on the balcony's banister until I stood next to him. 'Your Majesty…' I began, but he held up a hand.

'It's a century-old legend, Mylady,' he said quietly, not looking at me but up at the stars-covered sky. 'People living in the Alps still believe in it nowadays.' His words sent a shiver down my spine that were similar to what I had felt when Mr Ollivander had told about the legend that surrounded my wand. Could it be that the emperor meant the same myth I had heard years ago? Before my thoughts could wander astray though, the emperor continued, 'The legend tells of a young girl who wandered the icy winter woods in search for her beloved. The cold killed her, but people say that the spirits of nature showed pity for her. They changed her into the world's first silver fir to enable her to spread and continue looking for her beloved. The legend doesn't tell whether or not she found him, but it tells how the girl looked like.' He turned around and faced me. 'They say that the girl had raven-black hair and that her eyes glimmered in a misty grey. Her skin was fair and grew paler still in winter, yet her lips were of a soft red. She was a beauty, slim in build, and many said she seemed fragile and easy to break. But everyone who looked at her would see the strength that lay within her soul.'

His soft voice had me completely entranced. It was the same legend, the same story I had heard in a small, dusty shop from another man. And his words drew pictures into my mind, pictures of a dream I had had some time ago. But what was more important was that in the end, no matter how often I tried bringing back my thoughts to the present, I always ended up looking into a set of deep blue eyes.

Eyes I knew.

Eyes I had seen so often in the last years.

Robert Hitchens' eyes.

I was only partly aware of the emperor's smile. 'When I was dancing with you earlier, it was easy to see the girl having come back to life. You look so extraordinarily like her.' I met his clear eyes; they didn't hold any lie.

He continued, 'They say that she looked for a young man named Alaric' – something within me shattered like a mirror – 'and that her name was Audovera…'

_'Please, you cannot go. You cannot just leave me behind!' she pleads, her voice shrill, frantic. When she left him, she would die._

'_I'm sorry, __beloved,' he whispers. He takes her face between his hands, holding her close, touching her forehead with his. 'It's for the better. Trust me.'_

'_No,' she says, refusing, her voice broken by sobs. 'Please, I cannot live without you.'_

_He smiles sadly. 'I know you can. I have a task to fulfil. As have you a task to fulfil.'_

_She shakes her head. 'He is a monster. How can you stay calm with the thought of me marrying… _him_?'_

_He lets go of her, pushed her away from him with his hands on her shoulders. 'I can't. And that's why I have to leave.'_

_Her sobs grow louder, her breathing more ragged. 'Please, take me with you.'_

_He shakes his head, no longer able to meet her eyes. 'I'm sorry, Audovera.' He breaks physical contact, turns around and leaves for the dark wood. She stands still, not able to move, her eyes glistening with tears that roll down her cheeks. Her body shivers, from the cold as well as the hurt of being left behind. She doesn't understand it._

'_Come back to me, Alaric,' she whispers before she tumbles to the ground, becoming a heap of tears and sorrow.  
_

Darkness rules her life, no light penetrating the ever-lasting black veil of numbness. No sound reaches her ear, no smell she can taste with her nose or tongue. No word she speaks. Nothing makes sense. The only sense in life had been Alaric, and with his leaving, he had taken away everything that had meant something to her.

'_Alaric…'  
_

'Audovera…'

_A whisper, breathed softly against her cheeks. This is all that is left__ before the world succumbs to silence._

'Isla?'

Two strong hands on my shoulder, shaking me, brought me back to the present. I focused on the person standing in front of me, and I recognised Savaric's anxious face. 'Are you alright?' The worry in his voice warmed me, and I embraced myself against the cold. I hadn't realised how icy it had become outside. Hopefully, I didn't catch another cold.

My eyes wandered around, and I saw Mr Orwell standing just inside the room, watching his son and me. The emperor was still standing at the balcony's banister, not looking into my and Savaric's direction. Though, I noticed his stiff posture; he waited for me to respond to see for himself that I was all right.

Slowly, I nodded. 'I think so,' I quietly replied to Savaric's question. 'I guess the cold had me go numb for a bit.'

Savaric's face darkened, his eyes narrowed. 'Numb,' he scoffed, drawing me against him, embracing me with his strong arms. 'You were lethargic for a long time, Isla.' His tone was scolding, but I nonetheless heard the relief. He was happy that nothing bad happened to me.

'Excuse me, sir, Mylady,' the emperor then said, nodding his head into our directions.

Savaric didn't let go of me when he bowed slightly towards the man. 'Of course, Your Majesty. Happy new year.'

'Happy new year to you, too.' And then he was gone, swiftly walking past Mr Orwell and vanishing in the crowd of people within the ballroom. I could hear cheerful chatter and glass against glass as people toasted each other, wishing health and prosper for the year to come. What did I wish for myself?

Soft lips against my forehead brought my thoughts back to Savaric. I gazed up into his dark brown eyes that were only partly visible in the dimly lit winter night. 'Are you sure you're all right?'

I nodded and turned my head to look out onto the city and its light, leaning my right ear against Savaric's chest. His steady heartbeat was soothing. 'Yes,' I whispered, then fell asleep. I only barely noticed Savaric picking me up, one hand against my back and one behind my knees, or that my head leaned against his shoulder.

'Happy new year to you, Isla,' he whispered into my ear before I fell into a dream in which, whatever I did, the blue eyes of Robert followed me.

--

When I woke up the following morning, the sun shone brightly again. It stood high in the sky already, so it must be near noon. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, then sat up. My gaze fell onto the clock on the other wall; the indicator told me it was nearly time for lunch. I had overslept breakfast.

Getting out of bed quickly, I hastened to find some clothes. A knock on the door let me freeze in action though. Warily, I asked, 'Who is it?' The thin voice of the female house-elf answered, and I bade her entrance. She set to work immediately, and not fifteen minutes after waking up, I was washed, dressed and presentable.

Lunch was a quiet affair. At first, only Mr Orwell and Cadmus Selwyn talked, discussing the latest political turns of both Great Britain as well as Austria, but soon, once the meal was served, they fell silent. The sound of cutlery against plates was the only interruption of the silence, but unlike the awkwardness that sometimes reigned with my family during mealtimes, this silence was rather comfortable. Maybe the smiles Savaric presented me with across the table helped me relax.

After lunch, Savaric excused us both. We would take a walk through the bordering park, enjoying the bright weather. One of the elves brought us thick and furry winter cloaks, gloves and scarves, and protected like this against the cold, we set off.

The cool winter air was refreshing, and I took some deep breaths. Savaric walked closely at my side, and I grabbed his arm, linking it with mine. I felt his head turn towards me in a silent question, but I only smiled up at him, then laid my head against his shoulder. I fell in love with him, again, truly and all over. Being there in this park with Savaric at my side, nothing other than peaceful silence surrounding us, made me realise that he was the man I wanted to be with. He gave me the feeling of being save, of getting everything I needed to be happy. He was the right choice for me.

But the moment wasn't to last forever. Soon, we reached the end of the park and stepped out onto a lively street. Many people were jostling around, and from somewhere I could hear someone speaking without catching concrete words. Savaric switched sides with me, and while walking down the street, with me being close to the houses' walls and thus out of reach for any sudden physical harm, he kept looking towards the middle of the crowd. It seemed that this was where the speaker's voice came from. I couldn't see anything, but Savaric was tall enough to see over most heads.

When we reached a small alleyway, he went inside but stopped after only five steps. 'Stay here. I'll be right back. I need to see what this is about.' He punctuated especially his first words with a stern look and I nodded. Then he was gone.

I looked around and embraced myself with my arms. A cold wind swept along the alleyway, and I shivered a bit, even with the thick winter cloak, gloves and scarf still in place. Then, all of a sudden, my head jerked towards the depth of the alleyway. Towards the other end which I couldn't see for the small street was apparently very long, it grew dark and the shadows longer. And from there, something called. It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense, but something kept pulling me forwards. My feet started to move of their own, and when I realised what I was doing, I stopped, turning back towards the crowd again. But the call from within the alleyway got stronger, louder, and my resolve crumbled. Slowly but steadily. I _had_ to go down there, I _had_ to see who or what was calling.

I still hoped for Savaric's return so he would take me away from this place, but he didn't turn up. When then a church's bell started indicating the fourteenth hour, my mind lost all control and I automatically walked towards the call.

The houses were all brick buildings with dark walls and small, barred windows – if they had any at all. The doors were made of thick wood and looked uninviting. And in the middle of these houses was a little shop. I stopped at its display window, noticing that the call had vanished. Apparently, this shop was where I had been wanted to go.

I glanced through the display window. The shop was small, dark and dusty – even more so than Ollivander's in Diagon Alley. And that's where the similarities ended. Instead of one counter in the middle of the shop and all wands aligned with shelves on which lay hundreds of thin boxes with wands inside, this shop sported glass cupboards. The objects offered reached from talismans over herbals to powders of various colours. In a far corner, I noticed some cauldrons for sale, and in the display window, on a cloth of Bordeaux velvet, were all ingredients for a supposed Calming Draught shown. I recognised half of the ingredients, and the other half seemed to be pure imagination. I scoffed inwardly and turned to go back, but the shop's door was opened behind me. Then, someone said quietly, 'It's not every day that you meet a real witch.'

I swivelled around, resisting the urge to draw my wand, and faced an old man who had lost all teeth but two. His hair was snow white and hung in thin strands down his back. 'Excuse me?' I asked, keeping my tone cool and voice deprived of any emotion. He must not know right away that he was right with his assumptions ad that it had surprised me.

He grinned. 'No need to deny it, young lady. I have studied magic nearly my entire life, and thus know a witch when I see a real one. Besides, you're far too ethereal to be of non-magical descent.'

His words met me unprepared and I stared at the man for a long moment. His watery eyes were moving up and down the street restlessly, as if he feared someone turn up and cause him trouble – like maybe Savaric. But his posture was quite calm and trusting. Could he feel when someone was nearing? That would be interesting to find out, whether a Muggle having studied magic could sense people, like we pure-bloods could sense magic.

But this wasn't why I was here, I assumed. I therefore took a deep breath, still trying to think of what to say, when he turned away. 'Please, come in. There is something I need to show you.' He entered the shop, and out of curiosity; I followed him.

From outside, the shop had looked small and crammed, but there was more space than I thought possible. The man, Hergruner as it stood on a name plate propped onto the counter, vanished behind it and took something out from its depths. He put a chest onto the wooden counter and winked me to come closer. While I edged over, he opened the chest's lid and took out a branch. It glimmered silvery in the dim light of the dusty shop.

'This branch has been buried in soil without getting dirty, has drifted in a river without getting wet. It has been forgotten outside on a really icy – for humans and animals alike deadly – winter day without changing its temperature. And when I found it, I thought it was wood for the chimney, but it didn't even catch fire. Nothing what nature's spirits offer can destroy it.'

This tale was interesting, for sure, but didn't suggest why he had decided to tell me this. I shook my head, indicating my confusion.

He smiled mysteriously. 'It is a branch of the world's oldest silver fir.'

* * *

What will happen now? Stay tuned to find out. Chapter fifteen is written and should be up shortly. In the meantime, why not leave a review and tell me what you think?


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Sentinel

My apologies for not updating sooner. But here you go. Enjoy.

The lyrics are the translation of _Inama Nushif_ by Brian Tyler.

* * *

– chapter fifteen –

**Sentinel**

'_Oh Go__d! My child!'_

_The cry rises to the night, as do the flames. The wooden house is soon engulfed in the licking and all-destroying fire, and the breaking of burn__t wood echoes through the village. It is the middle of the night, but many come, carrying whatever holds water. Together, they fight against the flames but with no success._

_The woman __who has shouted tumbles to the ground, her face a mask of incredible pain. Tears cloud her eyes and sobs wrack her body. She throws her arms around her own body in an attempt to comfort herself, but as long as she does not have her child in her arms, she will never be truly comforted._

_Suddenly, water splashes onto the ground next to her, and she looks up. A boy of around sixteen years of age stands there, dripping wet. He has emptied one of the many water bowls over his head. 'Alaric! What do you think you're doing?' a man, the boy's father, asks._

_The boy doesn't turn around when answering. 'I'm going to save the girl.' And with that, he is gone, vanished into the house and flames._

_The village people carry on and try to erase the fire, but their attempt against the element is unsuccessful. Soon, the house is only ruins, and even those succumb to ashes. Murmurs now rise to the skies, the crowd wondering what has become of the girl and the boy who went to save her from fiery death. They are nowhere to be seen, but they could have easily become a part of the ashes that lie where the hut stood._

'_Your daughter, Ma'am,' a voice suddenly says, and everyone turns towards it. It's the boy, his face blackened from the flames, his clothes and hair still fuming from the heat; there are holes in his clothes here and there. But in his arms, most importantly, lies the girl – unconscious but alive. Her hands are clawed into the boy's clothes, her face hidden against his shoulder. Her body is limp and her breathing ragged. It's the coughing that accompanies the breathing that tells the onlookers the girl still belongs among the living._

_For a moment, there is silence, and no one dares to disturb it. But then, the mother of the girl jumps up from her place on the ground and cries, 'Audovera!' The cry carries all the relief and gratitude she feels right now, and her eyes are again clouded with tears. This time, though, they are tears of happiness. 'How can I ever thank you?'_

_The boy is smiling__. 'The knowledge that your daughter is alive is enough already.'_

_The woman embraces him and kisses him on the cheek. 'Thank you.'_

_--_

_Years pass, and life in the village moves on. The burnt hut has been replaced by a new one, built by Audovera's father. Audovera has grown attached to Alaric, forever grateful that he saved her from death by flames. She can usually be found wherever he is, joining him when he watches the cattle of his father or accompanying him into the forest when he goes to cut wood for the nearing winter. They talk and laugh about many things, and soon Alaric notices his feelings for her deepen. He grows even more protective of her and wishes he were good enough for Audovera. But time changes many things, and Audovera is not yet a woman._

'_Audovera!' her mother one day calls. 'Don't go too far away. It'll be dark soon!'_

_She lets her mother know she has heard her, then wanders on, collecting flowers. Suddenly, light reflects from fragile wings, bouncing back but still bathing the pastel colours into a myriad of rainbows. A butterfly rises from its place on a daisy, and Audovera – fascinated by the play of light and colours – follows it, forgetting about time and direction. The small insect flies into the wood, the girl still on its track. Her eyes never leave the colourful wings. She therefore doesn't see the large root that crosses her way. Her foot gets stuck and she falls, her ankle breaking with a loud crack that echoes in the silent forest. With tear-stained cheeks, Audovera lies on the ground, calling for help._

_No one hears her._

_Time passes by, and through the trees' crowns, Audovera sees the sun move on towards the western horizon. Daylight leaves and makes room for the night. It's getting colder, and Audovera shivers. She tries to wrap herself into her clothes, but they are not large enough to completely protect her from the cold. She is exhausted from calling for help for hours on end, her throat rough, and she wants to sleep. But she needs to be awake in case someone comes looking for her._

_Though, at night, the wolves are the only ones that come._

_The last winter had been hard in the mountains, and the wolves have begun to hunt at larger distances to prepare for another possibly hard winter. They kill cattle and do not fear a helpless child. Soon, Audovera is surrounded by three large wolves, each with fangs bared. Growls escape them, and she closes her eyes, praying to the spirits to spare her life._

_And help comes._

_With a roaring sound, loud enough to awaken the dead in Audovera's opinion, Alaric jumps into the wolves' midst, swinging around a branch, one end of which is aflame. The fire surprises the wolves, but they are determined not to let their prey get away. They attack Alaric, but he swings the makeshift torch around, and the fear of fire is what eventually chases away the wolves. With howls of disappointment, they vanish in the darkness between the trees._

_Alaric swiftly crouches down and lifts Audovera up into his arms. The makeshift torch lies forgotten on the ground; he cannot carry both it and Audovera. He knows that the wolves might come back to take revenge, so he hurries to leave the wood and get the girl back to her parents. He nearly flies through the forest, running as fast as he can with her in his arms._

_Audovera still shivers with fear and from the cold. Her body demands the sleep she can no longer deny. She closes her eyes, and even before Alaric steps out of the trees, Audovera is fast asleep, snuggling against his chest for warmth and protection._

_--_

'_A heart __will be broken, and its sentinel lost. Both will end but start again one day, with the hope of fulfilment.'_

_The startled man__ looks up and into the face of an old woman. She stands before him, close to where he sits and waits for buyers. Her back is bent, her hair grey. She leans on a walking stick. 'Excuse me, Ma'am?' he asks for he believes she must have confused him with someone else._

'_You will see, soon. Be careful as your word marks the outcome of two fates.'_

_Taken by surprise, he questions, 'What do you mean? What are you talking about?'_

_She smiles a toothless smile. 'The prophecy. Two hearts, two fates, and both dependent on another one's words.'_

'_Can you try to be clearer?' But she is already gone, vanished without a trace in the crowd that walks the market place. A man nears his wagon, and he turns towards his client. But __in his thoughts, he is still with the woman's words. What did she mean?_

'_I wonder…'_

'_What about?'_

_Several days later, h__e is back with his wife and daughter, and at his wife's reply, he looks up at her, his eyes sad. 'In town, on the market, there was a woman who told me about a prophecy.' He recites it and she raises her eyebrows questioningly. 'I know. It was most cryptic. But the woman made clear I would have a part in this prophecy.'_

'_Really? Did she say which?'_

_He shakes his head. 'Unfortunately no. I begged her to tell me, though. But she wouldn't, no matter what.'_

'_Maybe she confused you with someone else.'_

_He nods. 'That is possible, but she ignored my comment to that.__'_

'_Strange…'_

'_I agree. But let's talk about what happened here. How is Audovera doing?'_

_--_

'_When I die, I'd like to think I made a difference.'_

'_A difference?' He nods in reply to her question. 'What kind of difference?'_

_He shrugs. 'I don't know. Any difference. Does it matter what difference I make as long as I cause a difference?'_

_Silence falls. It's only interrupted by the birds singing in the trees of the wood that surrounds the little clearing. The horizon is slowly changing its colours from deep blue to blazing red and yellow, and the sun sinks below the mountains in the distance. A breeze sweeps through the trees and onto the clearing, the grass blades swinging in the quiet assault. A lone cricket starts playing its song._

'_Yes, I think it does. The difference can, after all, always be for the negative.'_

'_True.' He thinks, staring off into the distance. 'But that's not what I plan to do.'_

_Her suspicions are confirmed. 'What do you plan then?'_

_He laughs quietly as if he has guessed her intentions. 'So many things really. I'd like to change everything for the better.'_

_Audovera sits up and faces him. 'Our lives may be simple, but they're good as they are. If they weren't, we wouldn't be able to survive, would we? We know how to grow crops to feed us. We know how to hold herds of animals to have fur and leather for the winter. We live in peace. Isn't that enough? What more do you want?'_

_He avoids her eyes. 'There's only peace in our village. Out there,' he makes a sweeping motion with his hand, including everything she sees, 'people fight for cities and land. It has to stop. People are dying because of these fights. And who knows when they will come to us?' He looks at her, meeting her soft eyes. 'I would rather die fighting out there than see you die in the village when it's raided by a war.'_

'_You don't know if the war will ever come here.'_

'_Others have said the same. And they now lie dead and forgotten beneath the soil.' His tone is bitter, his expression clouded. With more force than necessary, he tears out a blade of grass, but he destroys the roots as well. 'War doesn't stop at your doorstep and leave you in peace just because you wish it would. War is death, Audovera. And only when one side is victorious will the war cease.'_

_Again, silence falls, and Alaric's gaze is hefted on the horizon, not acknowledging Audovera's presence at his side. She, however, can't take her eyes off of him. Fear rises in her stomach, twisting it until cold shivers run down her spine. Although __his tone has been embittered, his words have been spoken with a passion that reveals his burning desire to go and fight in the war. Why? Only to protect her? She wouldn't be able to live with that thought. He has to stay with her, no matter what. It would kill her if he left._

'_Alaric…' she begins, but he gets up, brushing off the grass. 'Please stay. For me.'_

_He clenches his fists, and then meets her eyes. His are clear with determination. 'I'm sorry, but I have to go. It's for the better in every way.' He smiles sadly and turns to the wood._

_Audovera sits stiff for a moment, the words registering with her. Then, she jumps up and follows, running fast to catch up with him. He is only walking, but his strides are long and his pace swift. 'Alaric, please wait. What do you mean, "in every way"?'_

_He doesn't turn around but answers, 'We're not meant to be together. You're going to marry soon and then there's no place for me anymore.'_

_This __causes her to halt. 'W-what?' she stutters. 'Who am I going to marry?'_

_Her tone is frightened, her voice carrying panic. Alaric takes a deep breath, then faces her. 'Has no one yet told you that your father arranged a marriage with a hunter from one of the neighbouring villages? He has known your father for quite some time already and you are promised to him since a fortnight.'_

_She shakes her head, denying the thought. 'How__ –?'_

'_I've heard your father speak to him and went to see for myself. I witnessed every word both men said.'_

_She begins to shiver. 'I didn't know…' she whispers, tears now rolling down her cheeks. 'But I can't marry anyone apart from you. You are the one I love. You are the one I need to be with. You are the only one I need.' Her voice breaks and only sobs __that wrack her body are left._

_He sighs and closes his eyes, a deep sorrow surging through him. 'I know. I feel the same for you. But it's your father's decision, not mine. Love doesn't count, Audovera. It never has and never will…'_

_--_

_On the way home, Audovera sees a boy, a small child still, lying on the ground. His arms cover his face; nonetheless, Audovera can see the tears that the boy cries. He whimpers, and she then sees the man standing over the boy._

'_Never again be in my way when I pass this street. You should be home anyway.' _

_Another boy comes running suddenly, standing above the little boy and in front of the man, his arms stretched out to form a barrier. 'Please leave my brother alone. He's sorry and won't be trouble anymore.'_

'_I hope so,' the man grunts and turns to go. 'Such brats like you belong locked up.' He leaves the place and vanishes behind the next hut._

_--_

_Audovera's life is simple, but no one ever claimed it to be easy. She meets the man her father wishes for her to marry, and from the first moment on she dislikes him. In her opinion, no one can ever be as wonderful as Alaric, and once her future husband is gone, she pleads with her father. 'I don't love him, father. I love Alaric and want to be with him only. Please. Let me marry Alaric.'_

_But no pleading, however sweetly done, can convince him. 'Odoroth is better for you. I know he is. __He is a respected hunter in his, our and several other villages. Alaric is a fine boy but nothing more. He has to establish his place before he can marry a woman. Odoroth has already established his place. Alaric is still far away from that.'_

'_I will wait for him then.'_

_He shakes his head. 'No, daughter. You marry Odoroth.'_

'_But he has been threatening little children! Before I even knew who he was, I witnessed him doing so. Do you want your daughter to marry a monster?'_

_A slap in the face. 'No more arguing. Odoroth is a respected man. I've known him for years. You will marry him, and that's my final word.'_

_With tears streaming down her face, she runs out of the hut. Her father's words__ break her heart, but she doesn't yet give up hope. Alaric has saved her twice from death already. He is her sentinel. She needs him to ensure her happiness and survival. He cannot leave her, and she cannot leave him. Her heart needs protection; its purity is more than one has ever seen._

_But the spirits cannot help her. Not this time._

_When she arrives at __Alaric's hut, he is about to leave. At first, shock stops her in her tracks, but when he reaches out to grasp the door's handle, she moves and pleads, 'Please, you cannot go. You cannot just leave me behind!' Her voice is shrill, frantic. If he leaves her, she will die._

'_I'm sorry, beloved,' he whispers. He takes her face between his hands, holding her close and touching her forehead with his. 'It is for the better. Trust me.'_

'_No,' she says, refusing, her voice broken by sobs. 'Please, I cannot live without you.'_

_He smiles sadly, his eyes clouded with pain. 'I know you can. As I have a task to fulfil, so do you.'_

_She shakes her head. 'He is a monster. How can you stay calm with the thought of me marrying… _him_?'_

_He wavers, confusing thoughts raging a battle inside his head. He wishes to stay with her, to protect her, and he is going to. No one can deny him his feelings and wishes if he is strong enough to address them._

'_Alaric!' came his father's voice from behind her. 'It's time for you to go.'_

_Audovera's eyes widen in understanding; the cold, forcing tone of Alaric's father's words let her see the truth. 'Please,' she whispers, pleads with a passion that speaks of determination._

_But Alaric lets go of her, pushes her away from him with his hands on her shoulders. 'I can't. And that's why I have to leave.'_

_Her sobs grow louder, her breathing more ragged. 'Please, take me with you,' she shouts, her voice cracking at the panic that threatens to overwhelm her._

_He shakes his head, no longer able to meet her eyes. 'I'm sorry, Audovera.' He breaks physical contact, turns around and leaves for the dark wood. She stands still, not able to move, her eyes glistening with the tears that roll down her cheeks harder than before. Her body shivers from the cold as well as the hurt of being left behind. She doesn't understand it._

'_Come back to me, Alaric,' she whispers before she tumbles to the ground, becoming a heap of tears and sorrow._

_--_

_Darkness rules her life. No light penetrates the ever-lasting black veil of numbness. No sound reaches her ear. No smell she can taste with her nose or tongue. No word she speaks. Nothing makes sense. The only sense in life has been Alaric, and with his leaving, he has taken away everything that has meant something to her._

'_Alaric…'_

_Running is all that is left to her._

_--_

_It is dark and cold__. Ice gleams in the moon's eerie soft winter light. No wind blows, and everything around stands still and silent. The trees glitter silver with the ice covering their needles, and it looks as if they were simply sleeping, covered by a white blanket. Above in the dark blue night sky shimmer millions of stars, twinkling down from around and within the light blue ribbon that winds its way across the firmament. The little light reaching the ground is reflected by the snow and ice, allowing Audovera to see._

_She is alone, slowly walking through the dense wood, her steps grinding loudly in the snow. She wears only a simple blanket over her quite thin, white gown, and her breath morphs into a cloud as soon as it leaves her mouth and nose. She shivers but continues walking, not once turning around to look back._

_From time to time she calls his name – at first loud and clear, her voice's echo lingering behind between the trees. But after a while, it dissolves to merely a whisper, held alive only by her wish to see him again. By now she is shaking from head to toe, but still she continues onwards._

_A rush of wind blows suddenly through the forest, the movement carrying the sound of a voice. _Audovera, _it whispers, and she stops, rigid, and swivels around immediately, only to have the wind directly hit her face. Her long blonde hair turns silvery white. She closes her eyes to listen carefully and again she hears the whisper. She rejoices and calls, 'Alaric!' But all becomes silent again. The wind moves on, taking all sound with it, and it is not coming back. Again she calls for him, but again she hears nothing in response._

_She closes her eyes and opens her arms, lifting them towards the night sky, praying to the spirits to bring him back to her. But the only answer she gets is a tinkle of the air with a sudden sweep of coldness. Crows that have been sleeping rise high into the night-time sky, calling warningly. The frozen trees creak, then fall deadly silent; as do the crows._

_She knows what will happen and tears roll out of her eyes, but they never reach her cheeks; they freeze as soon as they leave her eyelashes. Slowly, the deadly cold lays itself over the wood. She breathes again and whispers 'Alaric' one last time. But she is to never see her beloved again; the cold wave reaches and sweeps over her, and her shaking body succumbs to the winter._

_If it was dark and cold before, it now is pitch black and icy. Time flies by; whether by seconds or long-lasting centuries, it matters not to Audovera. For her, it feels like eternity. Around her nature awakes and falls into slumber again and again. She feels the wind hurl by, hears the water sing, smells the fire and rotates with earth's path. She tries to open her eyes but can't. One moment sounds deafen her, the next sudden silence presses on her ears. She starts shaking again._

Don't be afraid_, a purring voice whispers, strong but soft at the same time, coming from near and yet seeming far away._

_And she calms inside._

Audovera_, the most familiar voice calls softly from afar, and she answers, calling out for her beloved,_ I am here!

I know.

Where are you?

Here, inside you_, the voice answers, and she opens her eyes, looking into the soft blue eyes she fell in love with. She feels the ghost of his hand at her heart and closes her eyes again, warmth spreading through her, driving away the stiff cold that holds her body in a vice-like grip._

_Another voice sounds softly yet it seems to boom as it says, _Every viewfinder shall find what his heart desires. But life will not be given back once it is taken.

Where is Alaric?

He is close yet far away. In this life he will not meet you again, but you will see him, soon_, a fourth voice says, this one melodic._

Pay attention to your heart_, another unknown voice advises, its sound snapping like twigs in a fire,_ and you shall find its desire.

Attention and truth_, the very first voice whispers._

Your search will be made easier_, the booming voice speaks from afar, and she feels the change. Her body grows, her limbs morph. Her hair embraces her, then turns from silky and soft to rough and tapered. Her skin hardens and suddenly feels like bark. Slowly, she opens her eyes and discovers an entirely new world in her grasp. She looks around and sees a reflection in the ice, mirroring her new appearance._ The silver fir allows you to continue your search, but remember that it will be your decision in the end_, the booming voice continues._

**You** have the choice_, he whispers, the ghost of his lips lingering on hers._

Alaric.

'_Audovera…'_

_A whisper, breathed softly against her cheeks. This is all that is left before the world succumbs to silence._

_She is eternal__  
No malice can touch  
Singular and ageless  
Perpetually bound_

_Through the tempest__  
Be it deluge or sand  
A singular voice  
Speaks through the torrent_

_T__hrough the ages eternally bound  
Sacrifice is her gift  
One that cannot be equalled_

--

'Isla!'

I turned around and saw Savaric hurry towards me. His expression was grim, and I could feel his impatience as if it radiated from him. The long, dark cloak he wore billowed behind him, letting him look even more dangerous. And when he stood in front of me, he leaned down, grabbed my upper arms and asked in a quite menacing tone, 'Where have you been? We've been looking for you for hours!' He shook me. 'I told you to wait for me!' He was close to shouting now. 'What is so difficult in following a simple order?'

Just then he caught my eyes – and let go of me as if he had received an electric shock.

I was crying.

'I'm sorry,' I whispered, then fainted.

--

I couldn't be sure, but being enveloped in the dark veil of unconsciousness allowed me to comprehend things I couldn't were I awake. Audovera no longer existed just in a legend that had been narrated from generation to generation. She had found life again, a soul through which to feel and experience love but pain as well. It hurt so much, the love that wasn't fulfilled. It tore me apart, and I felt my heart and soul shatter with the power of it.

And what now? What now that Audovera wandered the earth again? In me?

And what about Alaric?

He was no longer the lost one. He, too, had come back. Not into Audovera's – my – arms, but close. The blue eyes that had caught Audovera's attention once had done so again. Robert had caught my attention – and most significantly because of his eyes.

Alaric had been reborn into Robert Hitchens, just as my soul was the reincarnation of Audovera's.

Was it fate that had Robert and I meet? Was the sad tale of Alaric and Audovera to repeat itself? I would marry Savaric, but my heart – and soul – told me to choose Robert, to end what had begun centuries ago. At the same time, I couldn't deny the feelings I had for Savaric. I loved him, too, despite the flaws he had. It was these flaws, though, that made him the person I had known for years and that I had come to love. He was my protector, my guardian, my sentinel – and that was the difference between Audovera and me. Our sentinels were different people. And I couldn't imagine a life without Savaric anymore. Was it, therefore, really upon me to seal the fate of two lovers who were already dead? Was it upon me to complete a love that was born long before me and wasn't my own?

_Are you sure it's not your own? Can you be sure that what Audovera felt for Alaric isn't exactly what you feel for Robert?_

I didn't know. I did feel something for Robert; of that, I was sure. But I didn't know if my feelings for Robert were the same as those Audovera and Alaric had felt towards each other.

Blue. That's what the darkness now turned into, blue. Deep. Wise.

Haunting.

Robert.

A whisper.

_Isla…_

* * *

I hope you liked it. It certainly took some time to get it sound right. Please let me know in a review what you think.

As for chapter sixteen... Well, I'm afraid I have to apologise. I started months ago, but my muse got distracted with _Twilight_. I'm hopeful, however, that once I've seen _New Moon_ in cinema that my muse will be more agreeable with _Shining Through Blackness_ again. Please stay with me, no matter how long it will take to coax my muse to work on chapter sixteen again. Thank you.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Soiree

My most sincere apologies. I know it's been ages. My excuse is a muse that's being incredibly easy to distract. However, chapter seventeen should follow quickly. About future chapters... I'm not sure when they will be up, but I'm giving it my best. There aren't that much left anymore anyway. Keep your fingers crossed that I can indulge my muse in _Shining Through Blackness_ for a little while longer to finally wrap this story up.

Thank you for your patience.

* * *

– chapter sixteen –

**Soiree**

The next days in Vienna went by without me noticing much. Savaric tried to talk to me several times, tried to learn what I had done down in the alleyway. But I couldn't tell him. My thoughts were still too chaotic, trying to understand the implications, confusing myself more often than not. Was I attracted to Robert only because he and I were reincarnations?

On the fifth day of the new year, the Orwells and I were returning home. Mr Orwell had arranged for another four spots with the Department of International Transport of the Austrian Ministry of Magic. I already hated Side-Along Apparition; the last time, I had felt sick, being pressed into the darkness like that. I would have preferred any other way of travelling, but Austria – unfortunately – was no neighbouring country of England, so the distance to travel by broom would be too much. And a Portkey wasn't much better than Apparition.

Once again, we travelled by carriage. Unlike on the day of our arrival in Vienna, however, I didn't feel like looking around to take in the Viennese architecture. I was still lost in my thoughts. Though, I did notice that Savaric was looking at me the entire time, his expression pensive.

Once we got out, our carriage drove on; it wasn't needed anymore anyway. Before a Ministry worker could gather our luggage, however, another carriage drove by, fast. I could only discern the royal coat of arms before Savaric took my hand and started walking towards the hidden entrance of the Ministry of Magic. That was when we heard the coachman call the horses to stop. I turned around to look what was happening, just in time to see the emperor emerge from the carriage. He ignored everyone around him, except me. He didn't come over, but his eyes caught mine and held them for quite some time.

_What lies beneath, what went forgotten._

The exchange didn't happen in any visible or audible way. I only heard the words in my head, a mere soft whisper. 'Isla?' Savaric asked and tugged on my arm. I didn't move though. My eyes were still locked on the emperor's.

_What do you mean?_ I mouthed.

_What lies beneath, what went forgotten._

--

Upon our return to school, Hogwarts' grounds were still covered in deep snow, with only a few paths cleared, those down to the greenhouses. I didn't care, though, and fought my way through the masses of white until I reached the shore of the lake. A thin layer of ice covered the pebbles that formed the shore. The water gurgled beneath the blanket. The sound was somehow comforting and I could completely surrender to my thoughts.

I wasn't to be alone for long, though.

Shortly after the sun reached its highest peak, a student from the look of it came trudging down from the castle. I didn't know whether he saw me and aimed his steps in my direction, or if he simply wanted to take a walk in the snow. He did look surprised when he grew aware of my presence.

It was Robert Hitchens.

'Hi,' he simply said, looking at a loss of what else to say.

'Hello,' I quietly greeted him.

'Cold, isn't it?' Robert asked, probably trying to make conversation. I inwardly rolled my eyes at him, but reminded myself that he didn't have the same upbringing I had, where I learnt everything about proper conversation. Therefore, I just nodded, thus agreeing with his observation.

The silence then grew a bit awkward. I broke it. 'I'm going back inside then. You can stay here. It's a great spot to think.' I sent him a smile which he didn't return; instead, his face fell. It seemed he had hoped I would stay.

My assumption was confirmed when he said, 'Please, don't go. I… I wanted to talk to you.'

I raised my eyebrows and folded my arms in front of my chest. 'All right. I'm listening.'

He hemmed and hawed for a while, but started to talk rapidly when I made to leave once more. 'I've been thinking over the Christmas holidays. I know you are betrothed and everything, and that your parents probably won't allow you to even consider it, but… I mean, the entire story with Alaric and Audovera must mean something, Isla.' He looked up and for the first time during his speech, he met my eyes. It felt like I was hit by a bolt of lightning. 'I don't believe that the dreams I have about Audovera are a coincidence. Neither do I believe that your dreams about Alaric are a coincidence.' He attempted a brief smile which failed. 'Remember the incident in the corridor in front of the library, after which you grew ill?' I nodded slowly. 'Well, you've been there. You felt it, didn't you? There is something we simply cannot resist or fight. Maybe it's fate that we should be together, not you and Orwell.'

What surprised me the most was that his tone wasn't accusing or sounding jealous in any way. No. Robert Hitchens sounded pleading. He wanted me to see reason. He was fighting to win me, to drive me away from Savaric and towards him. I wasn't unwilling to allow that, because – like Robert had noticed – there was something there between us, no matter if it resulted out of those strange dreams or not.

_What lies beneath, what went forgotten._

What he didn't know of the story, however, I knew. So I settled down to tell him.

--

'I guess I never believed in reincarnations, but it seems like I am one myself.' Robert laughed warily, like he tried to comfort himself. I would have liked to reach out and lay my hand on his shoulder, to squeeze it in reassurance that everything would be fine. But would it? Would everything turn out to the best of us all? It definitely would for one of the two boys – young men, my mind corrected. Either Savaric or Robert would be happy in the end.

And I? What would I be, torn between two people I cared and had feelings for? Why was I the one that had to make the ultimate decision? 'It's not fair,' I murmured, fighting back the tears. Though, I didn't even fully understand how I had got myself into that misery.

'What's not fair?' Robert asked softly next to me. I looked up in surprise, having completely forgotten he still sat by my side. His hand reached out, and carefully, he wiped away the tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes.

I took a deep breath and turned away from him. 'Everything?' I replied, a little belatedly. 'Why am I the one who has to decide who to take?'

Out of the corner of my eyes, I noticed Robert look down. 'It's either your family, or your feelings,' he stated quietly.

I blinked. Either… I sucked in another deep breath; this one wasn't out of sadness, though. 'What do you mean, either?' I snapped, anger flaring in me. 'Do you want to suggest I don't have any feelings where my family and Savaric are concerned?'

'That's not what I said –' he began, but I interrupted him.

'But that's what you implied,' I shot back. 'You said it's either my family or my feelings. Well, know that I do feel for Savaric just as much as I feel for you!' I exclaimed.

Robert did something I hadn't foreseen or counted with. He smiled. It fuelled my anger even more.

'Stop grinning like an idiot!' I hissed. 'What are you laughing at?'

His smile widened even more. 'I'm not laughing at anything. I'm happy. You just said that you have feelings for me.' He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it. 'You love me!' He sounded as if he didn't believe it.

Well, I couldn't believe I had openly told Robert Hitchens that I had indeed feelings for him.

Suddenly, Robert was very close to me, his hands lying down on my shoulders. He shook me slightly. 'Everything is falling in place now, do you see? We will be together and –'

I put a finger onto his mouth, halting his excitement. 'What makes you think we will be together, Hitchens?' I asked. I showed him my engagement ring. 'I'm still betrothed to Savaric Leofwin Orwell. We will marry on his eighteenth birthday, which is in October after we finished school. How do you imagine I should break up the engagement? I've been promised to Savaric on the day I turned twelve.' I gently pushed him away, looking down to not meet his saddening eyes. 'It's not as easy as you think it is. I'm a Black, Hitchens. I'm Isla Lyrae Black. I have a family reputation to uphold.'

His fingers took my chin and turned my face back to his, gently. His blue eyes suddenly held a seriousness I wasn't used to with Robert. 'Isla, I love you. I fell in love with you when I first saw you on the train. I know, with eleven years it sounds early, and back then, my feelings might have been something else than true love. But in hindsight, ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've been attracted to you. You've been like a magnet for me. When I saw that you and Savaric grew closer and closer, I grew jealous. I wanted you to be mine, and only mine. I wanted him be the loser. I wanted to win over him. And I still want it.'

He expressed my innermost thoughts, and I wondered if I could dare it. A try could never hurt, could it?

'I… Bob, I…' I began, but broke off again, my subconscious screaming at me to stop this unladylike behaviour.

He looked at me, confusion drawn into his face. 'What is it? You can tell me; I'll never hurt you.'

A small smile played around my lips. 'I know. It's just…' Again, I trailed off. I turned away from him and looked across the lake, my gaze disappearing in the far distance.

His hand coming to softly rest on my shoulder brought me back to his side. 'I can't help you if you don't tell me what depresses you.'

Blushing crimson, I mumbled, 'I want to… kiss you, and yet…'

'It's inappropriate for how you've been raised,' he said with a sigh when I didn't finish my sentence. I nodded and didn't dare to meet his eyes. 'You know,' he whispered into my ear, 'there's always the butterfly kiss.'

I looked puzzled. 'What is a butterfly kiss?'

He smiled, then brought his face close to mine. I closed my eyes, and while his hands cupped my face, he explained, 'A butterfly kiss is when two people bring their faces close together and flutter with their eyelashes, like a butterfly flutters with its wings.' My eyes opened again and met his. 'Would you like to butterfly kiss me?'

The smile that then played around my lips was heartfelt. 'I would love to.'

--

We spent many hours that day at the shore of the Black Lake, talking and getting to know each other. Something in me urged me to take the next steps, to much more openly show that I had indeed deep feelings for Robert Hitchens. But manners prohibited such atrocious behaviour. Still, on the way back up to the school, Bob and I were holding hands. His felt so warm that I wished to never have to let go again. But, unfortunately, that would not be possible.

'I just remembered another type of kiss without lips,' he suddenly said, tearing me out of my thoughts. I looked at him. He smiled. 'Eskimo kisses. You rub your noses against each other, gently.'

I raised my eyebrows, and he stopped walking. 'Would you like to Eskimo kiss me? Or was one butterfly kiss enough?'

Slowly, a blush and smile crept into my face. I mouthed, 'Your kisses are never enough.'

Bob came closer and then Eskimo kissed me, softly rubbing his nose against mine. It felt weird and yet so fantastic that I couldn't stop being amazed. I carefully started to mirror his movements, then closed my eyes and let the feeling of the Eskimo kiss engulf my being, drown my senses and catapult me high into the world of bliss. I felt elated and in wonder over the possibilities of being close to Bob without doing anything against the rules of my upbringing.

And then, I briefly thought how it would be like to kiss him for real, to use the lips.

'Did you know that those were my first butterfly and Eskimo kisses?' I asked instead, smiling, my eyes still closed. I couldn't allow me those thoughts and feelings. Savaric was too attentive; he would notice the change in my behaviour immediately. That mustn't happen. I should get away from Bob, as soon as possible.

'Isla?'

His voice, so full of concern, stopped my train of thought. 'I better go,' I quickly said, then pulled my hand out of his and went the rest of the way up to the castle as fast as I could. I believed I ran the way up to Hogwarts. And I even had to suppress the curiosity to turn around and see how he had taken in my sudden leave.

'Isla!'

I looked up and into the common room upon hearing someone call my name. I hadn't even realised where my feet had carried me. I found myself face to face with Savaric. I backed away a step; he had been directly in front of me, too close for my likings at that moment.

'Savaric.' I gave a curt nod with my head, then turned to go on. However, him grabbing my wrist prevented my leave. His touch felt so rough after Bob's gentleness that afternoon. Exhaling, rather annoyed, I faced him again. 'Please, let go.'

He brought my hand upwards, much more gentle this time, until it was on the same level as his face. He turned it around, then kissed the back of my hand. The feeling of his lips on my skin sent another bolt of fire through my veins and dizziness arose in my head. What was that, the day of kisses? Yes, I had wanted one, from Bob, and now I had got two of him and one from Savaric. And it wasn't even Valentine's Day yet.

'What happened?'

Again, a voice pulled me away from my thoughts. I looked up and met Savaric's gaze, his eyes cold and calculating. I knew that he knew that something had happened earlier, something that went against his plans. I couldn't be sure how much exactly he knew though.

'Did that Mudblood threaten you?' he asked, his eyebrows raised.

'No –'

'What happened?' he repeated.

'Nothing –'

His grip on my fingers tightened. 'Don't lie to me, Isla,' he warned in a quiet tone. I tried to yank my arm away, but he was too powerful for me. So I stopped my antics before I hurt myself which I didn't want to.

When Savaric eventually let go of me, I was proud to not having revealed anything about Bob's and my afternoon at the lake's shore.

--

**Several weeks later…**

'I've heard you're going to be at the Easter Soiree of the Potters.'

Bob dropped the book, his head swivelling around so fast that for a moment I thought he might hurt himself. The tome landed on the library's floor with a loud _thud_, and within the next second, the librarian came running, shooting me and Robert reproachful glances. Bob blushed in embarrassment and mumbled a flood of apologies while picking up the book.

When the librarian was gone again, he said, 'How do you know?'

I raised my eyebrows, turned away from him and replied, over my shoulders, 'Do you honestly think a Black would not find out?'

'Um…' he began, but for his own sake, he didn't continue.

I steered towards one of the tables that stood in the back of the library. Bob followed. When he sat down, he sighed and crossed his arms on the table, his head sinking onto them immediately.

'What is it?' I asked softly while getting my Arithmancy homework out. Professor Smyth had set a rather complicated essay today, and I hoped with beginning early, I would manage it fine.

'I'm invited, that's true, but… I might not go.'

My eyes caught his and he lifted his head off his arms. 'Why?'

'Avice – you know, a witch in my year and house' – I nodded; I knew the Greenwoods – 'she invited me and said there would also be dancing.' He stopped, picked up a quill and started doodling on a sheet of parchment.

'So?'

'So…' He wouldn't meet my eyes again, and his face was tomato red by now. 'So… I can't dance.'

Silence fell and I fought to keep my face straight, but I succeeded. I had had enough "training" in the society to keep a blank mask in comical situations. Besides, it wouldn't do any good if Bob thought I was laughing about him. But when he was all shy like this, he was just too cute.

'You're not laughing?' he mumbled after some moments. His blue eyes were searching my face for anything remotely related to humour at his confession.

'Why should I?' I returned, my tone serious.

His look was perplexed. 'Well… doesn't everyone know how to dance?'

I smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry about it.'

'But I do. Avice told me how many pure-bloods are going to be there, and I'm sure they all know how to dance. I assume you know how to dance.'

I was still smiling when answering, 'Yes, I do know how to dance.' He made a non-committal noise that sounded a lot like 'like I guessed'. 'And if you like, I can teach you,' I added.

'You would…' He stopped for a moment. 'Do you really mean it?' he asked, his voice incredulous. His eyes had now a hopeful gleam to them that told me he desperately wanted to be able to dance.

I smiled widely. 'Of course.' A Black doesn't offer something and then not keep to it when accepted.'

'Oh… I, um…' he stuttered. 'Thanks.' He blushed again.

'You're welcome.'

We then started doing our homework. The Arithmancy essay was harder than I had believed, but that only urged me more to work harder to be able to hand in a neat homework. None of us spoke, but the silence that settled around us – only broken by the rustle of parchment and the clinging of the ink bottle when we dipped the quills into the ink – was comforting. It felt nice to sit like this with Bob. It made me realise how much I had got used to his company since the one day at the lake's shore in January.

Three hours later, it was time for dinner. The librarian closed the library early that day, and therefore ushered us out. Since we couldn't return after dinner, we wouldn't see each other again until the next day. It made me a bit sad.

On the way down, we still didn't speak; walking alongside in silence was enough for now. It also gave me time to once again think about what I felt for Bob, what I liked about him. Automatically – like usual when I followed those train of my thoughts – I ended comparing Bob to Savaric. They were such different personalities it was a wonder I was able to socialise with both. At first, it had been difficult – Savaric had been difficult – but he was too proud to admit he was losing me to a Muggle-born. So he kept fighting. And somehow, caught like I was between these two young men and their efforts to win me, I had learnt to be with both without having to worry about who I loved more. I knew it could only be a temporary solution, but it was all I needed to be happy for a few months. At the moment, I didn't care about the future.

Having arrived at the Great Hall, Bob made to go to the Hufflepuff table, but I held him back. 'Just one question. Can't you dance in general or do you just not know the wizarding dances?'

His face turned red again in shame. 'My father taught me a bit, years ago, when I was still very little. But I was never good at it, so I don't know how to dance in general.'

His revelation would make it a bit more difficult, but I was determined now. I would teach him how to dance in the next weeks. I wanted to teach him, wanted him being able to dance so he could dance with me on the Potters' Easter Soiree. And what a Black wants, a Black gets.

--

I found us an unused classroom where we would meet after school. I knew enough music to charm us some. The spell wasn't difficult, and soon, soft music reverberated through the room, coming from nowhere in particular and still sound from everywhere. I loved music and listened to it whenever possible. While smiling happily to the tunes, I began teaching him about rhythm. He moved kind of helplessly at first, stumbling over his feet more often than not. But in his fifth lesson, he had already learned so much that I could take myself back in leading.

His hands on me were tentative at first, trying to touch me as little as possible. But with the development of his dancing abilities, his confidence grew, and soon he held me properly – not too soft but not too rough either. And it felt great. I felt amazing in his arms. I often entertained the thought of just letting myself go and lean my head against him and enjoy the dance. But I was his teacher and couldn't afford enjoying myself. It was my self-chosen duty to teach him, and I would do it properly. There might be a chance to dance with him and enjoy it at the Potters' Easter Soiree.

What surprised me really was Savaric's silence. He threw me long and calculating glances whenever I entered the common room after a dance lesson, but he never said anything about it. I hadn't told him about the lessons with Bob, but I didn't keep them secretive either. He either didn't know about them or he didn't care, although the latter seemed so unlike Savaric – unless he planned some scheme or something else that would have me regret the dancing lessons with Bob. Mentally, I braced myself early against whatever went on in my fiancé's head, but nothing out of order happened, and before I knew it, the Easter holidays had arrived.

--

On the first day of the holidays, Mother took me to Vestimenta. She had decided I needed a new dress for the Soiree. I didn't mind; in fact, I was quite excited to get something new and of my choice. Mother thought I was looking forward to an evening at Savaric's side and was babbling on about what a nice pair we were; I soon tuned her words out, more or less. Little did she know that my mind was already planning on how to best get away and spend as much of the evening with Bob as possible. It wouldn't be easy, not when the Potters' mansion was swarming with respected and powerful pure-bloods, but I would find a way. A Black always found a solution for a problem.

--

The evening had been a pleasant affair so far. I sat next to Savaric, stood next to him, danced with him like it was expected of me. I conversed with others, smiled politely, but deep down, I grew more and more nervous. Across the hall, I had seen Bob watch me, trying to be inconspicuous. But really, he still had to learn so much more to not attract unwanted attention.

A slow waltz finished and Savaric excused himself to fetch us some drinks. I waited next to the window where he left me, but Ranulf Able found me. He was quite insisting I dance with him, and since I couldn't see Savaric anywhere, I complied. Whether it was Ranulf's idea, or Bob's, or one they both had had, or if it was simply luck or fate playing their games with me, I finally ended in Bob's arms just when another waltz started.

It felt like floating, weightless, timeless. The sight of Bob in his best robes sent shivers down my spine, and whenever I felt his look on me, I could not help but return it, meeting the blue endlessness of his eyes. I felt elated, engulfed in blissful silence. We moved gracefully to the soft beats of the music. My moves mirrored his, or his mine. I lifted my left arm, he his right. I took a step back with my right foot, and he did a step forwards with his left foot. It was perfectly symmetric. I had never felt so close to anyone else like I felt at that moment.

His hand pressing into the small of my back brought me back to reality. I looked up, questioningly.

'Where have you been with your thoughts?' Bob asked, swirling us around, not once losing the rhythm of the music. I was proud that he had learned to properly dance in just a few weeks, and although teaching him had been fun, I had more than once asked myself if he would be able to keep up the symmetry this one dance demanded. But he had managed to learn it.

I smiled. 'Somewhere far away, and yet close to here.'

His lips neared my left ear. 'Are you sure you were close enough?' he whispered, his breath tickling me.

I giggled, then closed my eyes, mumbling, 'Yes.'

The next I felt were his lips, softly kissing mine. For a moment, my breath hitched, and my heart started beating wildly, uncontrollably. The irregular beat disturbed my moves, and I lost the rhythm of the music. But it didn't matter for his lips were so soft, so sweet, and I truly enjoyed how they felt on mine, how the kiss was so romantic. My body urged me to return the kiss, to claim what my heart desired, what my soul demanded was right. But my logic told me it wasn't right; it was dangerous if I would return it, for him more than for me.

It cost me quite an effort to turn my head away from him. His lips brushed my cheek, and he stood straight when he noticed me distancing myself from him. His face was as far away from mine as possible with us still dancing closely together. I looked around frantically, trying to find out whether the other guests had noticed something, especially if my family saw me kiss a young man with whom I was not related or betrothed. But no one looked in our direction. When I then turned back to Robert, I saw the hurt in his eyes.

'Did I do something wrong?' he asked carefully.

I closed my eyes, feeling sad but certain at the same time. 'We mustn't… kiss. Never again.'

'Why?'

The single whispered word was nearly enough to make me mad. Did he not understand who I was or in which circles I had grown up? Me, a pure-blooded Black, dating a Muggle-born would cause a scandal! 'It's not… right.' I felt guilty at having let this go on for so long. I felt guilty for having enjoyed the last weeks without thinking ahead. The retribution followed swiftly, it seemed.

Robert wouldn't give up until he knew exactly what he wanted to know. 'What do you mean? Why should it not be right if two people who like each other very much can't kiss?' In a way, he was as stubborn as Savaric at times. Or as I could be.

My eyes met his. His blue eyes were hard and not one single touch of warmth lay in them. I shivered. 'Because! It's forbidden.'

'Why?' There was so much hurt in the whisper it nearly tore my heart in two.

But I broke away from him; I had to. 'Because you're a Muggle-born. You're… not like… _us_.' Tears started to burn in my eyes, and without waiting for his reply, I turned around and hurriedly left the hall.

The sound of my shoes on the tiles of the entrance hall was oddly comforting. And yet, their regular staccato brought back the words I had spoken, made them sound like something monstrous. I had hurt him, badly, as I had hurt me. My heartbeat was frantic, my breath hitched. Tears rolled down my cheeks freely, and I sobbed noisily. By now I was out of the mansion, thank Merlin, and the darkness swallowed my pitiful excuse of life. But my memory still replayed the last moments over and over again, letting sink in what I had done. It burned me, and my chest constricted in a painful way. But it was the right thing to do, I told myself. I had to act like I did.

Defeated and completely devoid of the wish to live on any longer, I broke down in the middle of the Potters' garden. I stopped fighting against the tears and let it all out. It didn't matter if someone found me and thought me a freak. I was one. I had always been one. And this freak would find a way to even deal with Savaric if it was he who would find me here.

All I just wished was that it wasn't Robert who would find me.

--

**Two**** weeks later…**

The wind blew, the bushes groaning under its assault. It wasn't cold, however. Spring had finally found its way into the Scottish Highlands. Nonetheless, I quickly walked down towards Robert. He stood at the lake's shore, the same edge where he had found me in January, staring off into the deep blue water.

Ranulf Able had told me where to find him. He had cornered me after Herbology and strongly advised me to go talk to him. Robert needed me, that much was clear to him. Ranulf hadn't asked what had happened after Robert had displaced him as my dance partner, but he wasn't blind. He could see that Robert wasn't the same outgoing person he had been just some weeks previous. And he had guessed – correctly to my chagrin – that it had something to do with me.

Of course, who was Able to threaten me like he had done? But the hard look in his eyes made me bite my lip, gulping down the harsh response I had wanted to give. He didn't touch me, but his body's posture literally shoved me into the lake's direction. And there I was, walking over to Robert.

I hesitated for a second, but then my hands embraced him from behind. I leaned my head against his back, sighing contently. Mother had been right; I needed Robert. He was what she had called my soul mate. I could no longer live without him in my life. He was as vital to me as was breathing.

What I couldn't have foreseen though was him being startled at my touch, terribly. He swiftly turned around, his eyes widening when he saw me, but in the process of turning around, his feet started slipping on the pebbles. He grabbed my arms for balance, but his weight pulled me with him.

With a loud _splash_, we fell into the lake. The water was icy. My body crashed into his, my forehead bumping against his cheek. I felt his hand groping for my hair and pulling back my head. I squinted to see him in the dark water, and at first all I could discern were shadows. But in the end I could make out his features. Suddenly, his lips met mine, and while I stared into his eyes with mine wide open, we kissed as if our lives depended on us to never again stop it.

Maybe it did.

* * *

As ever, feedback is love. Let me know what you think. It might inspire my muse to hurry on with the missing chapters to complete this story. :)


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